Mr President
by Donnamour1969
Summary: CONCLUSION NOW POSTED! Patrick Jane is President of the United States. (Yes, you read that right!) How does the most powerful widower in the world find love with a CBI agent? Please take a chance and find out. Extreme AU, partly inspired by the movie "The American President." Rated T/M for adult content and language. Beautiful cover courtesy of the awesome phoenix2812!
1. The Pen is Mightier than the Sword

A/N: I mentioned on Twitter that I believe this AU is my riskiest yet, because it will force you to look at Jane in a way you never have before. But my personal challenge here is to make you believe that Jane being president could have been possible, had he used his powers for good, had his daughter survived and he'd had something more than revenge to live for. I think Jane has the potential for true greatness, and I would like to explore the possibility of that here. I hope you'll suspend some of your disbelief and take a chance with me. You needn't fear it will be too political; I will strive to keep it neutral in that regard. Only partly inspired by the movie "The American President," I may steal scenes or ideas from that sparkling film, but for the most part, the words I put in their mouths are all mine…

**Mr. President**

**Chapter 1: The Pen is Mightier than the Sword**

President Patrick Jane stood before the mirror, his normally dexterous fingers fumbling with the silk tie at his throat. It was the fifth reception dinner since his inauguration nearly twelve months before, but to Jane, this one was much more important than celebrating his swearing in as the most powerful leader of the free world. This reception represented the culmination of everything he had fought for, every private tear he had shed when he was alone in his bed at night.

He dropped his hands with a sighing curse of frustration, his left thumb automatically fingering the wedding band he still wore, though his wife had been dead for ten years. He stared at his reflection, not noticing the boyish sweep of blonde curls above his forehead, or the intense, slightly frightened blue-green gaze staring back at him. All Jane could see was a widower, a single parent who had wanted justice for his wife's murder and was at long last getting it.

"Here, let me do that," said Charlotte in amusement. His eyes shifted to the angelic platinum curls that appeared suddenly in the mirror behind him. Her face too could pass for a cherub's, though he'd never seen an angel with a teenage smirk.

He turned so she could re-adjust his tie, her fingers flying in inherited grace until the knot lay perfectly against his collar, and she slipped it inside his vest. She reached up and straightened his collar too, her green eyes meeting his with familiar mischief. Suddenly, he didn't want to leave her, felt his eyes misting a bit as he remembered his wife doing the very same thing with the very same expression. He swallowed the lump in his throat.

Finished with her task, she patted his dinner jacket lapel with finality, and with her usual trace of sarcasm.

"There. Now you look spiffy."

He turned back to the mirror and smiled at her skilled handiwork.

"Thanks," he managed.

She shrugged and climbed back onto his massive bed to watch him finish getting ready. He eyed her surreptitiously a moment, trying not to see her mother's face, though as she'd grown, she was beginning to look more like Angela every day.

He sighed again and went to the padded bench at the foot of his bed to put on his shoes.

"What are you so worked up about anyway?" asked Charlotte, her intuitive nature making him both proud and a little scared. "You've been to a million of these things."

"You know why," he said, bending to tie one shiny black shoe. He looked with longing toward his favorite old brown ones on the floor of his open closet.

"Yeah," she said, a flash of pain in her eyes. She knew. But it wouldn't do to get either of them upset right now. This night was too important.

"There's still time for you to get dressed and come with me," he said, looking hopefully at her over his shoulder.

"Seriously? Why would I want to go to some lame dinner to listen to a bunch of lame old people making lame speeches?"

"_I _am making a speech," he reminded her.

Her eyes filled with laughter, though her face remained set in adolescent contempt. "I rest my case."

He threw his other shoe playfully at her and she ducked easily out of the way.

"Besides," she continued, tossing his shoe back to him, "I'm hanging with Madeline's kids in the movie room. Maybe we'll go bowling in the basement too."

"That's very kind of you to watch them."

"Nothing kind about it. She's paying me fifty bucks."

"You will not take a dime from her, young lady," he warned in his best parental voice. Both shoes tied, he rose to face her.

"Aw, come on, Dad. How else can I make any money? God knows I can't have a job in this prison."

"Oh, please. Your allowance could support a third-world country."

"Because you spoil me. Don't you want me to learn self-sufficiency? Independence? A work ethic?"

He rolled his eyes.

"What do you need fifty bucks for, Charlotte?"

She shrugged in annoying nonchalance, and he noted how her eyes flicked briefly downwards before meeting his again with angelic guile—a telltale sign she was about to lie to him. He braced himself for the battle to come.

"You shouldn't ask so many questions this close to Christmas, Dad."

He wanted to smile at her brilliant deflection. It was true what they said about apples and trees, and he didn't know whether to be proud of her ability to con and manipulate or angry with himself for passing on that particular gene. He forced himself to frown at her, had just opened his mouth to give her a stern reprimand, when a knock at the door saved them both.

"Come in," father and daughter called together. This time, his frown was real in response to the untimely interruption.

Charlotte grinned at the arrival of her savior.

"Aren't you ready yet?" asked his chief of staff, Walter Mashburn. "The natives are getting restless out there."

Charlotte climbed down from her father's bed and practically skipped over to Mashburn.

"Hi, Uncle Mash." She tiptoed up to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Bye, Uncle Mash!"

"Well hi and bye to you, too, Lottie," said Mashburn, caught in the whirlwind of the girl's dramatic greeting and dismissal.

Before he knew it, she'd disappeared stealthily out the door.

"We'll finish this conversation later, young lady!" Jane called after her.

"Sure thing, Daddy," he heard her say, triumphant laughter infusing her escape.

"You should take her with you to negotiate with the Russians," remarked Mashburn dryly. "They wouldn't know what hit 'em."

Jane allowed the smile he'd been holding in check to break across his features.

"Teenagers," he commented, though the word held more pride than dismay.

"God save us all," concurred Mashburn. "Well, except from one particular teenager we met in Cabo that time…Spring Break of '92, wasn't it? What was she, nineteen? Jesus, Patrick, didn't she have the biggest-" His hands came up as if to cup impossibly large breasts.

"Walter," warned Jane, his voice low. He looked around lest someone else on his staff heard that particularly damning remark. The press would have a field day with this conversation.

Mashburn chuckled, then came over to Jane, readjusting the collar that Charlotte had just perfected. "Come on, Mr. Killjoy. Your public awaits."

Jane nodded, but Mashburn caught the brief flash of reticence in his old friend's eyes.

"You okay?" he asked seriously.

Jane swallowed. "I'm fine. I just…I can't stop thinking about Angela today."

"Understandable. But tonight is for her, Patrick. Hell, this bill you're about to sign even bears her name. What better way to memorialize and honor her?" He patted his friend's shoulder.

Jane felt his eyes grow misty. Of everyone in the world, only Walter Mashburn could understand what he was going through. He'd lived it with him, been there for him. Had it not been for Mashburn, Jane might have totally lost it after Angela's murder ten years before. He would certainly have ended up in an institution (or worse), Charlotte in a foster home because he couldn't summon the strength to care for her. Mashburn had been there to kick him in the pants, to make him realize how much Charlotte needed him to be strong. Yes, he owed this man his life—he and Charlotte both.

Mashburn fished a white linen handkerchief from inside his suit coat pocket and held it out to Jane.

"Now, wipe and blow, buddy. Can't have the president acting like a sissy when he's signing the toughest crime bill in American history."

Jane sniffed once and brushed the offending hankie aside. "Fuck you, Walter."

Mashburn stuffed the monogrammed linen back in his pocket with a grin. "That's the spirit."

Jane's annoyance with his friend had succeeded in bringing him out of his maudlin funk-just as Mashburn had intended. Another debt he owed him.

"Now let's get the hell in there before people start to talk," Mashburn said, his voice impatient now. He patted his stomach. "I'm freakin' starving."

Jane's smile returned. "You're _always_ starving. I swear, between you and Charlotte, I'm going to have to ask Congress for a special allocation to supplement the White House food budget…"

Jane walked ahead of him out the doors of the president's private residence, his demeanor turning instantly presidential. He was met by a pair of Secret Service escorts along with additional staff, who were all firing last-minute advice about his upcoming speech or giving him updates of other ongoing crises. He only listened with one ear, however, his heart racing in his chest.

_This is it, Angela,_ he thought.

With a deep breath, he nodded and smiled warmly at his vice-president, Madeline Hightower, who met him at the door to the State Dining Room in the East Wing. Her husband escorted her inside first, and then came the chamber orchestra's pomp-filled rendition of "Hail to the Chief."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Agent Teresa Lisbon looked at her pale face in the bathroom mirror and shivered, not because she was chilly in her black strapless dress, but from nerves. She was meeting the President of the United States. She and her CBI colleagues had been invited to come all the way from California to represent the best in US law enforcement. She would be seated at the president's table, eating from White House china, making small talk with the upper echelon of US government. But what was even worse to a cop like Teresa Lisbon, was wearing formal clothes that made her itch and high heels that made her feet hurt when she'd much rather be in her blue jeans and sturdy-soled boots.

Lisbon smoothed her hair and pinched her cheeks to give them a bit more color, then with a shallow sigh, washed her hands and dried them on the heated towel offered by the ladies' room attendant. She entered the lavishly appointed dining room once more, just in time for the president's entry amidst fanfare and wild applause.

Like everyone else in the room, her eyes were drawn to the president. He practically glowed with beauty and charisma, his smile as blinding as the California sun. Sure, she had shared the appreciation of his charms with most American women when she saw him on television, which, along with the sympathy factor at his widower status, had drawn many to the polls. But it was his toughness on crime that had compelled Lisbon to mark his name, she reminded herself.

Lisbon made her way as unobtrusively as she could back to the long table at the front of the room, set with heavy cream satin, gold trimmed glassware and flatware. Everyone was on their feet, of course, waiting for the president to make his way to the podium and make his remarks before signing the crime bill into law. She stood at her place between her boss, Virgil Minnelli, and her right-hand man, Kimball Cho. On the other side of Cho, the newlywed couple, Wayne and Grace Rigsby, looked star struck as the president drew closer to their table.

"You okay?" Minnelli asked Lisbon, noting her pale complexion.

"Yeah. This is just…" She gestured helplessly at the general opulence of the room.

"A bit much?"

She grinned sheepishly, her eyes returning to the president. "Yes. Surreal too."

Minnelli smiled back, patting her hand in his usual fatherly way. "I've met a couple of presidents before. They're just people, like everyone else."

Looking at Patrick Jane, she highly doubted it.

"I thought he'd be taller," Lisbon heard Rigsby whisper to Grace.

"Oh hush," replied his wife.

Beside Rigsby, Cho rolled his eyes, he himself appearing bored with the whole thing.

It took several minutes for President Jane to arrive at the podium, given all the obligatory glad-handing along the way, but eventually he stood beside Minnelli, while an aide adjusted the microphone.

"All right, all right," the president said, holding up his hands with genuine humility. His smile was wide, his natural good humor shining through. "Please sit down before I get too full of myself."

There were chuckles all around, then a rustling of skirts and adjusting of chairs as the invited guests settled into their seats. When it was relatively quiet, the president continued.

"I'd love to take credit for drawing all of you here tonight, but I know you didn't travel so far just to see me. You're here because you have earned the right to be called the best of the best in law enforcement, but, more than that, you are here to witness the signing into law of one of the most important bills of our time. House Bill 4314, whom some have honored my wife's memory by calling it, _The Angela Jane Crime_ _Bill._"

More applause, stronger still, while some even rose to their feet again.

"I know this isn't the typical way to conduct a signing ceremony, but when have I ever done things in a typical way?"

Those who knew him best looked heavenward; others laughed in complete understanding. Lisbon had heard that the Jane White House was one of the most unconventional administrations the country had ever seen, though the people on his staff were extremely loyal to their boss, no one leaking anything specific other than that things operated much differently from any of his predecessors. One thing was abundantly clear, however: Patrick Jane got things done, working seamlessly with both sides of the political aisle, bringing people together to pass laws and programs that had led to one of the highest approval ratings in presidential history, with the economy enjoying the benefits of unimagined prosperity.

Looking at him now, the way he worked this room, Lisbon could understand why he was so popular. She was so enthralled by his words, enraptured by his graceful mannerisms, captivated by his charming smile, that she almost felt…hypnotized.

"This bill may have my wife's name on it," Jane continued, a bit more soberly now, "but this law is meant for all of you out there, on the front lines of law enforcement, working tirelessly and putting your lives at risk so that the American people can feel safe walking our city streets, or allowing their children to play in their yards in the neighborhoods of suburbia."

More applause, and Minnelli grinned at Lisbon, clearly respecting everything the president was saying.

"Now, before I get to signing my John Hancock, I'd like to specially recognize a few people who are sitting with me up here at the big-wig table." At the wide-eyed expressions of sudden discomfort, Jane's grin widened in amusement. Lisbon had heard he loved surprising people.

"First, to my right, five agents from the California Bureau of Investigation, whose team, led by Special Agent in Charge, Virgil Minnelli, was responsible for the recent apprehension of the serial killer known as Red John. This man had evaded local and state police for years, brutally killing a dozen people—mostly women—before the skills of Agent Minnelli's team were able to extract information from one of his captured minions. Please, will you stand so we can applaud your heroic efforts? Agent Minnelli. Agent Teresa Lisbon. Agent Kimball Cho. And the dynamic husband and wife duo, Agents Grace and Wayne Rigsby."

Each of them stood as the president mentioned their names in turn, and when he said hers, Lisbon's eyes made direct contact with the sea green gaze of President Jane. He seemed to take her in with one quick sweep, before he met her eyes again with a brief flash of masculine appreciation. Lisbon blushed to her hair, and was she imagining things—or did the President of the United States wink knowingly at her?

When the clapping died down, the president went on to introduce other worthy officers, but Lisbon found it difficult to focus on what he was saying. She stared at him, trying to decide if she had really seen what she thought she'd seen, but her tripping pulse told her she hadn't been mistaken.

A few minutes later (though it seemed much longer to Lisbon) President Jane finished his speech and sat down at his place at the table, where his place setting had been temporarily replaced by several ceremonial ink pens and a final copy of the bill, awaiting his signature. Lisbon and the others watched as he used each of the pens to form part of his signature, then handed them to those who had played key roles in helping the bill to pass. The few select members of the press who had been invited for the occasion took their pictures or filmed the moment for the ten o'clock news.

President Jane pocketed the last pen, and Lisbon assumed he was keeping it for his own personal memento. With that, the Angela Jane Crime Bill was officially a law, and the president insisted the rest of the evening be a time of celebration.

During the soup course, the president turned to Minnelli, who was sitting beside him, enjoying his lobster bisque immensely.

"So, Agent Minnelli, you look like a man who isn't easily impressed."

Minnelli smiled benignly. "No, Mr. President, I am not. But I have to say, your new law is _very_ impressive. I look forward to implementing it back home."

"As a fellow Californian, that pleases me immensely." He grinned and looked just past Lisbon where she was bringing a spoonful of soup to her lips. Of course, he chose just that moment to address her.

"Agent Lisbon is it?"

Startled, the soup sloshed precariously in the bowl of her spoon. She willed her hand to steady it before she dropped it in her lap.

"Yes, sir, Mr. President," she managed, and Jane watched in admiration as she successfully lowered her spoon without losing so much as a drop. She sat up straighter and turned her head to look at him, heart picking up speed once more.

"What do you think of our new law?" he asked her.

She hesitated, and Jane interpreted that hesitation correctly.

"Not a big fan? It's okay. We're in America. You know, free speech and all. Don't be afraid to tell me what you think." He smiled his encouragement, and she had the feeling he genuinely wanted to know her opinion. Or else he was just very good at making people feel like what they said mattered to him.

She glanced at Minnelli, who gave her a neutral shrug, though his blue eyes were filled with humor.

"Lisbon is never afraid to offer her opinion, Mr. President."

The other CBI members, who had been listening raptly to the conversation, gave quiet noises of assent. Jane chuckled, delighted, and Lisbon felt her cheeks go warm. She softly cleared her throat.

"Well, sir…actually, I _do_ like your bill. I think it will be a great improvement, a real help to law enforcement. My only problem is…I think you didn't go far enough. You still leave our hands tied on some important issues…"

He watched her, fascinated by the passion in her voice.

"_Actually_, I agree wholeheartedly with you. But try getting a stronger bill through both houses of Congress." Those around them laughed knowingly.

"Of course," Lisbon said, backing down when she realized she was the center of attention. "I see your point." She would gladly have melted into the floor.

"Well, for the record, I'm sorry I couldn't do more," he said gently, sensing her discomfort, and then he turned on the election-winning smile. "But my term isn't over yet."

"Yes, sir," she replied, and she couldn't help smiling back at him, dimples on full display.

He spoke to others at the table for a few minutes, but in the lull between courses, he turned to her again. Minnelli had excused himself to go to the men's room, so there was no one sitting between them.

"I heard a wonderful story about you, about how you captured Red John."

"Oh?" She felt her face flush, and Jane's eyes softened at how it transformed her porcelain features to a delicate rose. "Well, it wasn't just me, sir. The rest of my team—"

"Aw, don't be so modest. I heard that once Agent Cho here skillfully extracted a confession from Red John's cohort—a secretary at the CBI, right?—you used yourself as bait to flush him out. Is that true?"

"Yes, sir, but the Rigsby's—"

"Come on, Agent Lisbon, accept some credit here. I read the reports. Your team was all in excellent form, but you, _you_ were the heroine of the day, from what I could tell."

On Lisbon's other side, Cho nodded in complete agreement.

"It's true," added Minnelli, returning to take his seat again. She tried not to feel the disappointment of there being someone between her and the president.

"No way we could have bagged him if Lisbon hadn't taken such a risk," Minnelli continued. "Hell, she didn't even tell _me_ what she was planning, or I would have stopped her in a heartbeat."

"We were so close," said Lisbon. "I'm sorry, sir, but I know you would have nixed the plan had I told you about it beforehand."

"Damn right I would have." It was an old argument, and Lisbon felt mildly embarrassed to be rehashing it in front of the president. Jane, on the other hand, seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the conversation.

"I'm not usually one to break the rules, sir," Lisbon said to the president, feeling the odd need for him to see her in a good light. "But I feared time was running out. Rebecca Anderson had said Red John was leaving the country, leaving California. I couldn't let him get away."

"No, don't explain, Agent Lisbon. I admire what you did. You did a brave thing. I'm a rule breaker myself sometimes. You should be proud of yourself and your team. Our nation owes you a great debt."

He raised his glass of wine and saluted her. "To Agent Lisbon and the CBI," he said.

Those around the long table, who had been raptly following their conversation, joined him in his impromptu toast.

Jane held Lisbon's eyes over the rim of their glasses, and she was grateful she was sitting down, so powerful was her reaction to his overwhelming charisma. Out of politeness as the host, he turned his attention once more to those on the other end of the table, but from time to time, she felt the weight of his stare upon her.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

After his last bite of delicious chocolate torte, Jane rose to make his rounds of the other tables, stopping to talk and laugh with his guests. But something in him rebelled against leaving his own table, and he knew exactly what—or _who_—seemed to be silently calling to him.

Agent Teresa Lisbon.

It had been ten years since he'd felt that sharp pull of attraction. Ten years devoted to other things, like grieving, raising his daughter, and cultivating his political career. He'd neither had the time nor the desire for romance, and he'd kept himself so busy he was too tired to dwell on his loneliness. He hadn't even looked at another woman since his wife's death, and so it was tragically ironic that the first time someone had piqued his interest was on the very night that was meant to commemorate his dead wife.

He felt shaken. Discombobulated. And guilty as hell.

And so he avoided her for the rest of the evening, which only made him feel both guilty _and_ cowardly. He was the President of the United States, dammit. Why the hell was he allowing a diminutive state to get under his skin?

As he was listening with half an ear to an amusing conversation between the CIA and FBI Directors, Mashburn's voice suddenly filled his ear.

"You need to stop staring at her," his Chief of Staff whispered so only he could hear.

Jane was startled to realize that he had, in fact, been gazing at Teresa Lisbon from across the room as she laughed quietly at something her colleague, Cho had said. Jane tensed, looking around surreptitiously. Had anyone else noticed? He forced himself to focus his full attention on what people were saying around him, even laughing at the right time.

At eleven-thirty, Mashburn approached him again.

"It's almost midnight, Cinderella," he whispered dryly. "You've got that meeting with the Chinese Ambassador tomorrow morning."

Jane nodded, but to his consternation, his eyes flew immediately to Teresa Lisbon. He'd tried to be less obvious the rest of the evening, but he couldn't help sneaking little glances every now and then. Her hair was a rich curtain of mahogany velvet. Her Irish complexion smooth and white. Her breasts were high and firm in her strapless dress, and it was a lesson in self-restraint to keep his eyes from exploring the mysteries of her lovely cleavage.

Mashburn went up to the podium to close by making a few witty remarks, then he announced that the president would be leaving soon. The room expressed its collective and genuine disappointment.

Jane made his way back through the throng, shaking hands and saying his goodbyes. And suddenly Teresa Lisbon and the rest of her team were right in front of him. His hand went briefly to his chest.

"It was an honor to meet you, Mr. President," said Agent Minnelli, shaking his proffered hand.

"And you, Agent. Thanks for your service to California, and to our nation."

"Thank _you_, sir."

He stopped before Lisbon, his heart giving a thump of anticipation.

"And Agent Lisbon. Keep up the fine work. I feel a lot safer knowing you're out there."

"Thank you, sir."

She was blushing, as he'd predicted, and when he took her small hand in his, he felt a jolt that took him completely by surprise. She'd felt it too—he saw it in the widening of her lovely green eyes. He gave her hand a faint squeeze and a lopsided smile.

"Good-bye," he said softly, and she felt a metallic coolness settle in her palm before he gave another quick wink, then moved on.

She looked down and saw that he'd given her the last signing pen. Her eyes flew back to his retreating figure in his impeccable gray suit, but he had finished his good-byes to Cho and the Rigsbys and was moving on out of polite earshot.

"Good-bye, Mr. President," she whispered, and she clutched the pen tightly in her hand.

**A/N: You may be wondering how Jane could have risen to this place, how this jibes with his canon background. I promise to flesh that out in future chapters, as well as go into more detail about his wife's murder and its aftermath. Thanks for coming along with me on this! I'd dearly love to hear what you think!**


	2. Chicken with Stuff

A/N: I am truly overwhelmed and touched by the wonderful reviews, and by all of you who took the chance on this fic. Thanks so much! I wish I had the time to reply, but any spare time has been spent actually writing, lol. Christmas break is coming soon, so hopefully I'll have more time for everything. Now, here is chapter 2!

**Chapter 2: Chicken with Stuff**

President Jane sat alone in his bedroom, contemplating the evening he'd just spent. He was sprawled in his favorite armchair looking decidedly un-presidential. His stocking feet rested on the footstool, his suit coat and vest gone, his tie untied and hanging loosely from his neck. He leaned his head back, physically and mentally exhausted, though he knew if he went to bed, he wouldn't be able to sleep.

He'd finally signed Angela's bill into law. Because of this, more policemen would be out on the street. The hands of law enforcement would be more loosely tied when dealing with murderers, like the one who had killed his wife. He should feel happy, or at the very least, relieved. Instead, he kept thinking of Teresa Lisbon, and feeling inordinately guilty because of it.

He toyed with his wedding band. Ten years was a long time to be without female companionship. He'd lived like a monk in that way, his obsessions with being a father and moving up the political ladder to get this bill passed taking precedence over his own personal needs, in effect, like his religion. After a couple of years, he rarely even thought about women, though Mashburn was delighted to update him on the number of pairs of panties Jane had received in the mail each month, along with phone numbers, marriage proposals, and offers to end his celibacy, from both women _and_ men. Over the years, Walter had attempted unsuccessfully to set him up, or encourage him to at least hire someone to give _poor Little Patrick some freakin' relief._

_It's not normal, _Mashburn had said, on numerous occasions. _Man wasn't meant to hide it under a bushel, Patrick. It really is true what they say about using it or losing it. What if you do finally-miracle of miracles-find a lady you're interested in and you can't get it up? My God, you'll be screwed up for life…_

To which Jane would reply: _It's too late now, Walter; I'm already screwed up._

Sitting in his armchair in the White House trying to reconcile his guilt to his desire only proved it.

A soft tap on his door had him sitting upright, only to find that it was Charlotte, clad in Hello Kitty sleep pants and a Paramour t-shirt, her hair in a messy bun and her face scrubbed clean of makeup. He had to smile at how much they were alike, living contradictions, the both of them.

"Why are you still up so late on a school night?" he asked, glancing at the digital clock by his bed. It was almost one a.m.

She climbed into his lap like she'd done since she could crawl, and he gathered her into his arms. She rested her head on his chest, listening to the comforting strength of his heartbeat, and he breathed in her powdery scent that almost allowed him to imagine she was still a little girl slathered in baby lotion after a bath.

"I couldn't sleep," she said. I got up for a drink water, and I saw your light on. I thought you might need to talk."

She felt his chuckle vibrate through his chest. "Have you been into the cappuccino machine again?"

Charlotte hated that she could never fool him and she frowned in annoyance. Unlike with most "normal" fathers, she could never lie to him. Ever. He always knew it, always knew when she was keeping something from him, too. And since he'd been involved in politics since her mother died when she was eight, she almost always had a Secret Service agent or some sort of bodyguard monitoring her from afar, so he invariably knew her business, even when he wasn't there. She understood his over-protectiveness, but it was damned annoying, and did nothing for her social life.

If she didn't love him so much, she'd absolutely despise him.

"Yeah, but seriously, Dad. Are you okay?"

"Of course, sweetheart," he said kissing the top of her blond head. "It was just an emotional night."

"You didn't cry in front of everyone, did you?" she asked, horrified at the thought, her mind already dwelling on the kids who might make fun after seeing her dad cry on television.

Jane grinned.

"No; I kept it together, though no one was more surprised by that than me."

"Hmm…well, congratulations. I'm sure this will end up helping a lot of people."

"That's the hope."

There was a pause, and for a moment Jane wondered if his daughter had fallen asleep in his lap—an occasion that hadn't occurred since she was very little. But then she whispered: "Mom would be very proud of you."

He swallowed over the sudden lump in his throat.

"Not half as proud as she would be of you."

He held her tightly, and this time he couldn't help the single tear that slipped down his face to land unnoticed in her soft hair. He honestly didn't know what kind of man he would have become had he lost Charlotte too, had she been with Angela when she was raped and murdered while jogging on the beach that night. Had he not had Charlotte to live for, hadn't had friends like Walter Mashburn to get him through, he would have easily fallen into a world where he was either consumed with vengeance, or where he would have been unable to live at all.

But as he had done for the last ten years, he summoned the strength to regain control of himself, finding comfort in planting another kiss on her sweet-smelling head.

"What did you need fifty bucks for, Charlotte?"

But his little girl was sound asleep, and he smiled contentedly, appreciating the sound of her deep breathing, and the fact that she'd gotten out of answering his question once again. When his arms and legs began to tingle from holding her so long, he rose with her, still in his arms, and, for the hundredth time since she was born, carried his sleeping child to her bed.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Where's your head this morning, Patrick?" asked Masburn the next morning. They had about five minutes until his daily staff briefing, and the early meeting with the Chinese ambassador had gone well, though Mashburn could tell the president had been a bit distracted.

"When does the contingent from the CBI leave?" Jane asked suddenly.

"What?" Sitting at his usual place on a couch in the Oval Office, Mashburn chuckled. "I knew it!"

"Shut the hell up and answer my question, Walter."

"So which is it, Mr. President? Shut the hell up _or _answer your question?"

Jane shot him a look that would make a lesser man tremble, but Mashburn only grinned. He held up a hand in surrender. "Okay, finger off the nuke button. All the guests from last night have hotel rooms booked through tonight. They leave tomorrow morning, I believe."

Jane felt his heart thump. He had time.

"Get me Teresa Lisbon's phone number."

"Patrick—"

Jane knew he was about to get an earful of Mashburn's friendly advice, but he definitely didn't want to hear it. He held up a staying hand.

"Just do it. Before I lose my goddamn nerve," he finished softly, and Mashburn's smile faded somewhat. This was a huge step for his friend, and while he would have loved to tease him mercilessly about it, he realized his joking could cause him to change his mind. The teasing could come later.

Mashburn rose from the couch. "As you wish, Mr. President," he said, and left the room to find someone who could track down that information.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lisbon stepped out of the shower, drying off with the expensive hotel bath sheet before wrapping herself in the fluffy hotel robe. She had slept in, after tossing and turning most of the night, and the rest of her CBI team had already left to do some sightseeing. She'd been to DC a couple of times, and she planned to take a walk and revisit the monuments on the National Mall, but she supposed now she'd be doing it alone.

As she combed out her long, wet hair, her eyes alighted on the pen the president had given her last night. She relived the moment, her thoughts dwelling on the instant his hand had taken hers. His had been very warm against her cool one, and she'd felt an unmistakable spark between them. She set down her comb and picked up the pen from the vanity. He'd held this in his hand, used it to sign an historic law. And he'd given it to _her_.

She couldn't for the life of her understand why. She'd had nothing to do with getting the bill passed. She'd just been doing her job back in California, but she'd be lying if she said his praise and the admiration in his eyes over the Red John capture wasn't flattering. Being flown to Washington, all expenses paid, and invited to the White House for a fancy reception had been honor enough—so why the pen too? She didn't want to believe it was because he had sensed something between them too. Because that would be too hard to believe, too good to be true, fantasy tale worth of Cinderella.

Her cell phone rang and she moved to the bed to answer it.

"Lisbon."

"Hello, Agent Lisbon," said a voice that seemed beautifully familiar. Her heart skipped a beat.

"Hello, uh…Mr. President?" She felt a wave of warmth engulf her and she touched her hair self-consciously, as if embarrassed to be caught talking to the president in a robe with wet hair.

Then she realized an important point, and her brow furrowed. "Why do you have Van Pelt's phone?"

There was laughter now on the line and a muffled struggle for the phone. Then she heard the unmistakable sound of Grace Van Pelt's voice.

"Wayne! Stop that. Gimme the damn phone!"

She heard Rigsby chuckling in the background. "Sorry, Boss!" he was saying. Lisbon's face flushed in disappointed embarrassment.

"Sorry, Boss," Van Pelt repeated. "Wayne's been practicing his President Jane imitation. He thought it would be funny to test it out on you. Immature, I know."

"Yeah," Lisbon replied, trying to sound nonchalant, while inside she tried to calm her churning emotions. "That was hilarious. Tell him not to quit his day job."

"Sorry. Anyway, we were wondering if you feel like meeting us later for lunch. We just finished our tour of the National Archives."

"Sure. Where do you want to eat?"

They arranged to meet at a restaurant down the street from the hotel at noon, and then Lisbon hung up, feeling out of sorts. Part of her wanted to kill Rigsby for his little prank, part of her wondered why it had bothered her so much. She'd just turned on the hair dryer when her phone rang again. She reached for it without looking at the number.

"Did you forget something?" she asked, figuring it was Van Pelt.

"I don't think so," said the president's voice dryly. "Did _you_?"

She sighed impatiently, hating how her heart lurched once more, annoyed that even an imitation of his voice could stir her so easily.

"Rigsby, this isn't funny. Seriously. Unless you want desk duty for the next month, you'd better—"

"This isn't Rigsby. It's the President."

"Sure. Right. I'm hanging up now." And she did.

A moment later, the phone rang yet again. This time she glanced at the number, startled to see it was unknown, though it had a D.C. area code. A strong feeling of foreboding slithered down her spine. She shivered, and, closing her eyes, reached for the phone as if it were a snake.

"Agent Lisbon," she answered, so hesitantly it sounded like a question.

"Are you sure?" replied President Jane in amusement.

She swallowed hard. "Uh, yes, sir. Sorry, sir. I thought—never mind." She grimaced in mortification and sat heavily on the bed. "How may I help you, Mr. President?"

She imagined his stunning smile at the other end of the line, could even hear it in his voice. "I hear you're leaving tomorrow."

"Yes, sir. We have an eight a.m. flight."

"What would you say to extending your trip a few days?"

Lisbon was at a loss. _What the hell?_ "I don't know, sir. Did you want me for something…specific?"

She could have bitten her tongue off for how husky her voice sounded, how her choice of words seemed just a bit…suggestive. She wished the floor would open up and—

The president chuckled, and it wasn't her imagination that his voice was low and sexy. "I certainly do, Agent Lisbon." He cleared his throat then, as if coming to his senses.

_Good. Someone needed to in this crazy conversation._

In a much more presidential voice he said, "It's regarding one of the requirements of my new crime law. Each state must have a task force to zero in on the problems of their state, to find how best to spend the allocations for the law. Since I happen to have members of the best in law enforcement from California, I thought I could save the taxpayers some money and interview _you_ to be on the task force. I mean, since you're uh, already here and all…"

_Did he seem just a little uncertain at the end there?_ she wondered. _Almost like a nervous teenager asking a girl out on a-no, Teresa, you're out of your freakin' mind._

"Agent Lisbon?"

Her stunned silence must have lasted longer than normal.

"Sure!" she said suddenly, cringing at how her voice had come out much louder than she'd intended. "I mean, I would be honored, Mr. President. I'll just have to consult my boss and—"

"Already done."

"What?"

"Your boss. Agent Minnelli. I already asked if I could have you for a few more days."

"Oh."

She didn't know how she felt about that. It seemed to her the president should have had the courtesy to ask _her _first before going over her head to the boss.

"You're mad," he said. _How could he tell that from one word?_

"No. No, of course not. I'm honored, like I—"

"You _sound _mad."

Lisbon suddenly felt desperate, like something she dearly wanted was slipping away.

"I'm _not _mad, sir."

"Are you arguing with the President of the United States?"

His lofty tone made her smile. He was teasing her.

"No, sir."

He sighed. "Seriously though, Agent Lisbon, If you don't want to do this, I certainly understand. You should feel under no obligation to do this for me; I know you must be a very busy lady, what with catching serial killers and all."

Her smile widened. "I'm not too busy for you, Mr. President. Where and when do you want me?"

Again with her unfortunate word choices. She flushed, and her heartbeat quickened.

"I'll send a car for you in an hour," he said, and it wasn't her imagination that his voice had broken just a little before he hung up.

She called Van Pelt. Her afternoon plans had definitely changed.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane swiveled his desk chair to stare blindly out the windows of the Oval Office. He'd asked a girl to come over. Scratch that—a _woman._ A beautiful, sexy woman whom he knew must also be very strong and skilled with a gun. He took out his white handkerchief and wiped his damp brow, wondering if she thought he was a fool after that torturous conversation.

Did she see him as some sort of pervert, using his position of power to get her over here and into his bed? He wondered then if that was what he was doing. After all, he hadn't come right out and told her that he wanted to get to know her better, to see if the instant attraction he'd felt for her stood the test of the light of day.

Instead, he'd resorted to subterfuge to get her to come back to the White House. That stuff about her being on the task force had been totally off the cuff. He'd lost his nerve at the last minute, his fingers fiddling unconsciously with his wedding band.

_Dammit._

He glanced at his watch.

She would be here in an hour. _Shit._

He swiveled back around and pressed the intercom button on the desk phone.

"Brenda, I don't care what you have to do, clear my schedule from twelve to one."

"But sir, you have the children's choir in the Blue Room."

_Shit,_ he thought again.

"Okay, twelve-thirty to one. But I'll need a car sent to pick up Agent Teresa Lisbon at the St. Regis…"

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lisbon could barely contain her excitement as she was led by a presidential staffer to the Oval Office. The president wasn't there yet, and she had a moment alone to try to compose herself. She looked around the famous room in awe, turning a full circle to take it all in. And then from a side door that seemed almost invisible before, President Jane entered his office.

He paused in what seemed like surprise, his blue-green gaze sweeping her body from head to toe, just like he had done the night before. Lisbon tried her best not to fidget. She was wearing one of her conservative pantsuits with a simple white blouse. She hadn't expected to visit the White House beyond last night, so she hadn't brought anything to wear that was special besides her dress from the night before, packing only typical work attire and a pair of jeans. If she was in fact staying a few days longer, she would have to find the time to go to a department store.

President Jane, on the other hand, was wearing one of the impeccable three-piece suits he was known for, his pale green tie complimenting his amazing eyes. She was struck again by how impossibly handsome he was, and she resisted patting her hair self-consciously. She hadn't had the time to properly straighten it, so it hung in natural waves about her shoulders. She felt a bit like a little brown wren next to a glorious peacock.

These incongruous thoughts raced through her mind as they stood a moment, silently appraising one another. Then Jane cleared his throat and walked closer to greet her properly, putting out his hand to take hers. The jolt of awareness that raced through their joined hands was still there, even stronger than last night.

"I'm so glad you could come," said Jane, looking deeply into her eyes as he said it.

"Me too," she said, slightly dazed.

He must have realized he'd been holding her hand much longer than was politely necessary, and he released it, taking a safe step back.

"I do have one thing to do before we talk. I hope you don't mind."

With that captivating grin of his, she wouldn't have minded anything.

"Of course not."

"Good. So, did you enjoy the reception last night? The food good and all?"

"Yes. It was wonderful."  
>"Glad to hear it. Sometimes the food at these things is barely edible. It's either chicken with stuff or beef with stuff, or some mystery meat that you take your life into your own hands by eating."<p>

She grinned, loving how _normal_ he seemed. "I know what you mean."

"And what exactly is that _stuff_, anyway? I'm thinking of forming a task force to look into _that_."

"I'm sure that would be tax money well spent," she said gravely.

"Well, you know the first thing I did when I became president, don't you? I made an Executive Order that if we ever had chicken with stuff on the menu, I'd have the chef put on trial for treason. So far, there have been no arrests."

"Good news for the chefs."

"Yes."

"And tell me, Agent Lisbon—say, may I call you Teresa?"

"Of course, sir."

"Good. Tell me, Teresa, do you like dessert? You're not one of those women who eats only rabbit food are you?"

"No, sir. I'm actually a pepperoni pizza kind of girl—with a side salad just to balance things out."

Jane grinned. "I suppose I could have guessed that, your being from Chicago. But let me guess your favorite dessert."

It was well-known how good the president was at reading people, at seeming to see their innermost thoughts and desires. This was probably why he might well bring peace to the Middle East, she thought in amusement.

"Shoot," said Lisbon, a bit amazed she was standing in the Oval Office talking food with the President of the United States.

"Hot fudge sundaes."

Her jaw dropped. He'd guessed it in one.

"I take it I hit the target?"

Her eyes narrowed, and she remembered her late-night room service order. "Have you been having me watched?"

"Of course not," he said, with just enough mystery to doubt that he was kidding.

A knock came on the main door, and the president's Chief of Staff appeared.

"You ready, Mr. President?" he asked with suitable respect, though Mashburn's eyes sparkled at the picture they made.

"Yes. You remember Agent Lisbon?"

"Of course," said Mashburn, approaching her to shake her hand. "From the great State of California. We met briefly last night."

"Yes, sir. Good to see you again."

"Likewise," said Mashburn. He turned once more to Jane.

"The kids are waiting for you, Mr. President," he said.

"Well, we can't have that. After you, Agent Lisbon."

She walked back toward the main entrance of the room, and behind her back, Mashburn blatantly stared at her behind, giving Jane the okay sign with his fingers.

_Stop,_ mouthed Jane, but his smile widened as he followed Lisbon out of his office, forcing his eyes upward.

The Blue Room housed the official indoor White House Christmas tree, and stood eighteen feet tall, festooned this year with ornaments representing every state's official flower. Around the foot of the tree stood a group of perhaps thirty elementary aged children, all clad in red choir robes. Their smiling teacher stood beside them, hushing her charges as the president was announced.

The children began singing "O Holy Night" with voices so pure it brought tears to Lisbon's eyes. They sang about three songs, and afterward, Jane went directly to the children, spending at least fifteen minutes squatting down and shaking each little hand, exchanging a teasing or complimentary word, genuinely caring about what they said in reply. He laughed frequently, and Lisbon could tell what a wonderful father he must be.

Back in the Oval Office, he gestured that she sit on a couch, while he faced her on an opposing one.

"Did you enjoy that?" he asked her, his eyes going to the golden cross she wore around her neck. He'd noticed how she'd touched it as the children sang "Silent Night."

"It was beautiful," she said sincerely.

"I have to say, I love Christmas," he told her. "Mainly because of Charlotte, I suppose. I love playing Santa Claus, and I admit to going overboard with the gifts sometimes."

"I've already seen that first hand," she replied dryly. "Thank you for the pen, last night. It was an unexpected honor. I'll treasure it."

"My pleasure."

Someday he would like to recreate that expression of surprise and pleasure on her face when he'd placed the pen unexpectedly in her hand. He felt warm just imagining it.

"Do _you_?" he asked softly.

"What?"

"Love Christmas?"

He saw a brief flash of pain in her eyes, but she covered it immediately. "I don't like the commercialism," she replied honestly.

He nodded in understanding, but he felt the strange need to make her love the holiday as much as he did.

"Well, there's nothing like Christmas in the White House to make you appreciate it. We have _seven _Christmas trees in this place."

"Seven?"

"Well, not counting the tree-asaurus in the front yard."

She smiled, having seen it lit up the night before. "It's beautiful."

"Yes, it is," he said, and she had the funny feeling he wasn't just talking about the tree. "Now," he said, fearing he'd gone dangerously off track, "I suppose you're wondering why I called you here today…"

They spent the next thirty minutes talking about task forces and California law enforcement, but Lisbon wondered if she'd remember a word they'd said. She jumped a little when another quick knock came at his door before Walter Mashburn walked right in. Jane frowned at the interruption; he'd been enjoying himself immensely. But naturally, there was yet another briefing he had to attend.

"I apologize," Jane said. "Duty calls. But I hope you will decide to stay a little longer, so we can flesh out the details of the task force."

"Certainly Mr. President. I'm looking forward to it." They rose from their respective couches.

Over her head, Jane met Mashburn's eyes meaningfully, and with a knowing smirk, his friend shut the door again.

"And since you'll be here over the weekend…how would you feel about coming to the Christmas Ball here at the White House Saturday night? As my special guest."

Her throat went dry. "Are you…asking me out?" she dared to ask.

She was surprised to see a hint of color flushing his cheeks.

"I uh, suppose I am."

"Will the food be good?" she asked, emboldened by the realization that she had the power to make the president blush.

"Nothing will have _stuff _with it, Scout's honor."

The mischief in his eyes made her doubt he was ever a Boy Scout, however.

"Then I would be happy to accept, Mr. President."

This time when he took her hand, he purposefully held it longer than he should have.

"My friends call me Patrick, Teresa," he told her, and he gave her hand an encouraging squeeze.

**A/N: I decided to make this also a little bit of a Christmas fic; hope you don't mind. Thank you so much for reading. **


	3. The Fish and the Bird

A/N: Your kind reviews continue to amaze and inspire me! Thank you so much! If you didn't get a personal reply from me, it's because you reviewed as a guest. Please log in, in case I have time again to reply ;).

Now, for the Christmas Ball…

**Chapter 3: The Fish and the Bird**

"Van Pelt," said Lisbon into her cell phone, trying hard not to sound panic-stricken-which she was.

"Yeah, Boss. What's up?"

"I uh, need your help right away."

Van Pelt's voice turned instantly concerned. "Where are you?"

"I'm in the lobby of the hotel."

"Do you need Rigsby too?"

"No, just you."

"Okay, I'll be right down."

An eternity later, the elevator door slid open, and Van Pelt moved quickly to where Lisbon was pacing near the posh lobby sitting area.

"What's wrong?" she whispered anxiously to her boss over the lobby muzak.

"You have to help me pick out a ball gown. My black cocktail dress is too informal for a ball at the White House."

Van Pelt stared at the more diminutive woman, momentarily nonplussed. She'd summoned her for wardrobe advice? She took a deep breath, trying to slow her racing racing. But Van Pelt, always ready for emergencies of any kind, nodded in understanding, noting with sympathy now how agitated Lisbon seemed. She supposed she couldn't blame her. She'd been asked out by the President of the United States, for God's sake.

Lisbon pulled out her smartphone and began searching for the closest appropriate department stores and boutiques.

"Don't worry, Boss," she said with a reassuring smile. "I'd be happy to help."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"It's perfect, Boss," said Van Pelt, two hours later. After trying on several ball gowns, Grace knew how to gauge Lisbon's expressions regarding formal attire, though it was hard to separate dissatisfaction with a dress from annoyance with the entire dressing room process. To Van Pelt's surprise, Lisbon didn't look unhappy.

For the first time, when she looked at herself in the mirror, Lisbon actually smiled.

"It's not too bad, I guess."

"Well, halleluiah," said Van Pelt, her own face bright with a smile. Then Lisbon frowned.

"You don't think this looks more like…well, a wedding dress, do you?"

"Maybe a little, but the gold in the bodice and the embroidery on the skirt makes it look more like a ball gown."

Lisbon turned from one side to the other before the mirror, having the fleeting thought that she looked a bit like a princess. The very idea made her blush, as did the vision of the president seeing her for the first time in this distinctly matrimonial gown.

"Isn't there some rule about wearing white after Labor Day?" she hedged.

Van Pelt gave a huge sigh of exasperation. "Oh, for the love of God, stop!"

Lisbon's eyebrows shot up, and it was Van Pelt's turn to flush.

"I mean, Boss…you look beautiful. This is the one. No need to second-guess. When you know it's right, it's—"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," said Lisbon in amusement. "Tell the clerk I'll take the damn dress."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

"You know," said Charlotte, "if these things are starting to make you this nervous, you should stop having them. You're the president, Dad. You can make some sort of executive order or something…"

Jane frowned in the mirror. It was a repeat of the other night—a repeat of many other nights—where he would chat with his daughter while putting on the final touches of his attire for some state function. Charlotte was on her usual perch on his bed, where she was normally either watching critically, or laying on her stomach while thumbing away at her cell phone. Tonight, she was watching him closely enough that it only added to his agitation. He usually treasured these moments with her, but he was plagued with nerves even worse than before the crime bill signing.

"I can't be a no-show at the Christmas ball, Charlotte."

He watched her shrug in the mirror, then he focused on his infuriating black bow tie. She didn't help him this time—bow ties were too complicated, she had said on many occasions.

"Rumor has it," she began idly, "that you have a date for tonight. When were you going to tell me, Dad?"

He pulled the ends tight on his tie and turned to his daughter sheepishly.

"I was going to wait to see how it turned out before I talked to you about her. I wasn't sure how you'd feel about my dating again."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. It's about damn time, as far as I'm concerned."

"Charlotte," he said, eyes narrowing at her bad language.

"Sorry," she said unapologetically. "It's just that it's been ten freakin' years since you dated, Dad. That's actually kinda creepy."

"You sound like Walter," he said, lips quirking. "But you're wrong. I've gone out before…"

"One date. And I don't think it even counts."

"Kristina was a very nice lady. We went to dinner. Of course it counts."

Charlotte gave a dramatic shudder. "Right."

"And that's the reason I didn't go out with her again. You didn't like her."

"She was okay. A little weird maybe, but okay, I guess, so there was definitely more to it than that."

He looked at her a moment, wondering if the fact that she'd inherited his shrewdness was a blessing or a curse.

"She just wasn't your mother," he admitted over the tightness in his throat.

"No one will ever be Mom," said Charlotte softly. "But I'm pretty sure Mom wouldn't want you to be a monk."

"Charlotte."

"It's true, and you know it. So, this tells me there must be something really special about this chick you're seeing tonight. Who is she? Is she hot? When do I get to meet her?"

"Her name's Teresa, and she's an agent with the California Bureau of Investigation. And yes," he said, feeling a little warm when he said it, "she's very hot. But don't get too excited, sweetheart; she's only here for a few days."

"They have these cool things called airplanes—and you happen to have access to the _coolest_ one. No more excuses, Dad. If you like her, don't let anything get in the way—not me, not even Mom."

Her wise words hung between them, and he covered his discomfort by slipping on his black tuxedo jacket over his snowy white shirt. Suddenly, he smiled.

"How old are you again?"

"Old enough to go out on dates without a chaperone," she quipped, batting her eyelashes persuasively.

He laughed, leaning over the bed to kiss her on the forehead. "Yes, I've heard this. Countless times. I sort of hit on this presidency thing at exactly the right time," he said dryly. "What normal father has a pair of Secret Service agents following his teenage daughter around wherever she goes? I never knew how much I'd come to appreciate the little perks that came along with this job."

She gave a derisive snort and looked at her phone to reply to a text.

"You know…Kristina gave me a quick psychic reading once while you were on the phone," she said, out of the blue.

"What?" said Jane, horrified. "There are no such things as psychics, Charlotte. Kristina was a fraud—another reason things wouldn't have worked out between us. I'd long since been out of that life when we met."

"Don't you want to know what she said?"

He stiffened, but tried to sound nonchalant. In truth, he was dying to know what the fake psychic had had the audacity to tell his little girl. That way, maybe he could send a drone to her home in California, and-

"I'm sure it was a lot of New Age nonsense," he said, "but I could use a good laugh."

"I don't know, Dad; maybe she was on to something. She said…I would have a new mother by the time I was eighteen."

Jane stared at Charlotte a moment, struggling between anger at Kristina for making such a prediction, and overwhelming guilt at his own selfishness. Should he have been trying harder to get her a new mother? Had she missed out on an integral part of her development because of his devotion to his dead wife?

He knelt on the bed and gathered Charlotte up in his arms.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he whispered. "I should have remarried a long time ago, given you a woman in your life you could talk to about all those female things I didn't have a clue about."

To his surprise, Charlotte pushed him away slightly to look at his face.

"Dad, stop it. Sure, sometimes I wished I could have a mom to talk about certain stuff, but you've been such a great dad, I have never felt I was really missing anything. And for those things _you_ didn't know," she said, her smile bright with humor, "there was always the internet."

Jane smiled in return, speechless with love for this girl who'd had his heart since the moment she'd curled her tiny hand around his finger. He pulled her close again, silently damning himself, Kristina Frye, and the unknown assailant who'd taken Angela from them both.

"No pressure with this Teresa chick, though, Dad," said Charlotte. He could feel her grin against his chest. "After all, by my count, you still have six whole months…"

Jane closed his eyes tightly.

The drone option was definitely still on the table.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Walter Mashburn, the president's chief of staff, led Lisbon to an anteroom near the top of the grand staircase, from which the president would make his entrance. She stood as still as she could while she waited, wishing she still had her coat.

She couldn't decide once again whether she was chilly or nervous, and her hand went up to pat her hair for the hundredth time. She'd pulled it back into a simple low bun, with a soft part in the middle that allowed her wavy hair to appear almost like it had been molded into 1920's finger waves. Teardrop pearls hung from her ears, and she wore nothing at her neck—the gold threads of the bodice embellishment enough, she'd thought. She wore low gold heals beneath the skirt of her dress, desiring comfort over height since she had a feeling she would be dancing part of the night—and she loved to dance.

"You okay?" asked Mashburn. His voice lowered conspiratorially. "Need a drink?"

Lisbon laughed in surprise, though she had to admit a shot of whiskey might take the edge off.

"No, I'd better not. It wouldn't do for the president's date to make a stumbling entrance into the ballroom."

"Aw, to hell with all those old fuddy-duddies. They wouldn't know real fun if it bit them in the—Mr. President! Look who's here!"

Jane looked from Mashburn to Lisbon, noting their close proximity with raised eyebrows. Mashburn grinned and stepped away.

"They're expecting you in five," he warned, then exited the anteroom.

"Ignore Walter," said Jane. "He's a perpetual flirt."

Lisbon smiled. "He's a very charming flirt though."

"He likes to think so."

Jane allowed the admiration to seep into his eyes then, forgetting Mashburn and blatantly ogling her from head to toe and back up again. She blushed prettily, and followed his lead, taking in how his perfectly tailored, black tuxedo emphasized his blonde hair and his stark white shirt enhanced the faint tan he still sported from his recent trip to the Governor's Conference in Florida.

"You look incredible," he said sincerely. He brought her hand to his lips, then sandwiched it warmly within his two palms. He could feel her thready pulse beneath his hands. But she hid her nervousness well, as, he hoped, did he.

"Thank you, Mr. President; so do you," was her bold reply.

"It's Patrick, remember?"

"I remember," she said with a small smile, but she still didn't say his name. He'd have to keep working on that.

They were separated for his entrance into the East Room, where he was welcomed in his usual fashion, this time by the band hailing him once again amidst the deafening applause of congressman, their spouses and other dignitaries. Behind him, Vice President Madeline Hightower, resplendent in sapphire blue, was escorted by her handsome husband. Lisbon stood off to the side of the beautiful room, looking in awe at the huge, sparkling chandeliers, the golden draperies, the shining wooden floor where she hoped she'd be dancing soon. It was really like a fairytale, complete with yet another beautiful Christmas tree as a corner focal point.

She suddenly felt a hand on her elbow.

"Sorry about that," said the president near her ear. "I'm all yours now."

She shivered slightly as his breath stirred her hair. "I doubt that," she said softly, as another person made a comment to him, dividing his attention briefly once again.

Then Vice President Hightower stepped up to the microphone in front of the band.

"On behalf of the president, I'd like to welcome all of you to the annual White House Christmas Ball. We are so pleased you joined us to help celebrate this holiday season. Enjoy the hors d'oeuvre, but please don't drink too much eggnog," she warned, garnering many knowing laughs. "Now, my husband is quite the dancer, and he's itching to get me on the dance floor, so please, give it up for the band, and let's get this party started!"

There was wild applause and a few whistles, and then a famous singer, popular for his style in the same vein as Frank Sinatra, began to sing his jazzy version of "Jingle Bell Rock." Lisbon was doubly star struck. Jane grinned almost gleefully as he took her hand, and Lisbon found herself breathlessly swing dancing with the President of the United States. She laughed and blushed as he gently twirled her around, pulled her close and stepped away. She felt every eye upon them, and it was a few minutes before other dancers joined them out on the floor. She had never felt so exhilarated by a dance in her entire life, so proud to be someone's partner.

When the Christmas song ended, the crooner slipped into an old slow, standard. Jane and Lisbon stood awkwardly for a brief moment, both of them a little out of breath from their dance and their closeness, though neither of them wanted to find other partners. They felt the expectant eyes of the room upon them, and with a smile, he took her hand, while she rested her other on his shoulder. His right hand found her waist, and they began a slow back and forth sway to "The Way You Look Tonight."

"You are a surprisingly good dancer," she said, looking up into his light green eyes.

"You expected me to have two left feet?" he asked, feigning offense.

"It's not that. It's just…I find it hard to believe someone could be that…_perfect_," she admitted.

He laughed, drawing even more attention, but Jane ignored the stares and the speculative smiles, pleased to see by the twinkling in her eyes that she was only teasing him.

"Well, Teresa, I hate to tear down this very high pedestal you've built for me, but I am not, in fact, perfect—not by any means."

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Tell me one thing you're bad at."

He pretended to contemplate her question seriously, while he marveled at the tininess of her waist, the fragility of her hand in his, the heavenly scent she wore, redolent of rich vanilla and chocolate. _Good enough to eat_, he thought. His eyes darkened at his forbidden thoughts, and Lisbon averted hers shyly at the sudden heat she saw there. They listened to the singer for a moment, felt the music envelop them, drawing them closer, making them feel as if they were the only dancers in the room.

"Singing," he said at last. "I couldn't carry a tune in a bucket."

She looked up at him again, her expression skeptical.

"It's true," he protested. "Ask my daughter about the times we've sung Karaoke. It's really horribly cringe-worthy, or so says Charlotte."

She shook her head. "I'm sure you're exaggerating. I'd have to hear it to believe it."

"Deal," he said, squeezing her hand. "Come tomorrow night and I'll prove it. You can meet Charlotte."

He was just as surprised as Lisbon at his invitation.

"Okay," she said softly.

He nodded, already anticipating having her to himself—and Charlotte, of course—in their private rooms. As the singer finished the last strains of his song, Jane managed to hold her a respectable distance away, though he longed with everything in him to press his body flush with hers, to bury his face in her soft neck and breathe her in.

More enthusiastic clapping met the end of the song, and Jane caught Mashburn's eye across the room. He immediately headed their way.

"I'm afraid I should spread myself around a bit," he said to her reluctantly. "If your dance card isn't full in awhile, will you save another for me?" 

"Of course," she said. "Thank you for the dances."

He squeezed her hand. "My extreme pleasure."

"May I cut in?" asked Mashburn gallantly.

Lisbon smiled. "Please do."

"Take care of my date for me, will you, Walter? But not _too good_ of care." The last was said in a teasing tone, though Mashburn felt the distinct possessiveness behind it.

"I'll be the very model of gentlemanly restraint," he replied dryly.

Jane looked heavenward, gave Lisbon a smile of farewell, and went off to ask the vice president for a dance, much to the delight of the crowd.

The singer began another song, and Lisbon enjoyed being in the hands of another charming dancer.

"You two make a lovely pair," said Mashburn sincerely. "Everyone is commenting on it."

Lisbon blushed. "I still can't believe I'm even here."

"It is a bit overwhelming, isn't it? But you're doing fine. Now, if Patrick can avoid accosting you on the dance floor, all will be well."

"What?" she said, startled. "He's being a perfect gentleman."

"Naturally," said Mashburn. "But that's not how he wants to be. Just a little warning. I haven't seen him this way with a woman since his wife."

Lisbon's eyes widened. "He'd probably be mad as hell if he heard you telling me this."

"Oh, I'm sure he would be," said Mashburn with a little chuckle. "But I like you, Agent Lisbon, and I can see you like the president. He's moving very fast though, and I just don't want you to get too caught up in his…enthusiasm. You live on opposite sides of the country, and he's the President of the United States. You see the inherent problems…"

"Yes, I would, if we were involved, but we aren't. This is only our first date; we're not picking out rings tomorrow."

"Oh, I understand that. I honestly don't want you to get hurt, Teresa—may I call you Teresa? But I definitely don't want him to get hurt either—his job is too important for the distraction of a broken heart."

"Are you warning me away from him?" she asked, her heart skipping a beat.

"Of course not," he hastened to explain. He grinned kindly, showing his engaging dimples. "I guess what I'm trying to do is suss out your intentions."

She glanced across the room where Jane was laughing with Madeline Hightower while they danced, obviously very comfortable in one another's company. An unexpected wave of longing came over her, and she wished she could still feel his hand wrapped warmly around hers. She resented Mashburn's implication that she was out to take advantage of this wonderful man.

The very thought made her stiffen in Masburn's arms, her voice becoming as steely as it did when she was interrogating a perp. "I'm only here for a few more days, Mr. Mashburn, but I intend to see him as much as he wants to see me. I enjoy his company—it's nothing more than that."

But Mashburn was far from blind; he saw how the two of them looked at each other, saw how taken his friend was with this petite woman with the sexy job and the sexier ass.

"I didn't mean to upset you. Patrick isn't just my boss, Teresa; he's my friend. And my priorities are his happiness and the welfare of the United States—in that order. Nothing personal—you seem to be a lovely person."

"Hmph," she said, but she barely spoke to him the rest of the dance, despite his attempts at pleasant small talk. When the music ended, she excused herself to head for the open bar.

"I think I need that drink now," she told him. "Thanks for the dance."

"Teresa—"

But she had slipped away before he could apologize.

"Shit," Mashburn muttered.

He looked for the president in the crush, saw that he'd been watching them dance, his eyes narrowed unhappily. Jane could read a situation instantly, and Mashburn felt his stomach clench. There'd be hell to pay for this one, but Mashburn was only looking out for his friend.

He didn't feel a bit guilty, not one iota.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Your date seems lovely," Madeline was saying, as she caught Jane glancing surreptitiously at the petite brunette dancing now with Mashburn. "She's the agent from the CBI you met at the reception the other night. I wonder that we had never met."

"California is a big state."

"By all accounts, she's an amazing investigator, with a fine team. I had met her boss, Minelli before-a great man. I can see how she would blossom under his command."

"Yes," agreed Jane proudly. "Teresa's sharp as a tack, and a heroine to boot. She'll be the perfect choice to head the California task force."

Hightower raised an eyebrow. This was news to her. "Hmm. Sounds like a perfect choice for _you_."

"Madeline—"

"Oh, come on, Patrick. I've been trying to get you to date for years."

"Yes, I know," said Jane, remembering very well how she'd encouraged him to go out with Kristina Frye, the psychic who had shown up at the Santa Barbara police station, claiming she'd had a vision of who might have killed Angela. That had led to nowhere, in more ways than one.

"Well, Charlotte's almost grown," Hightower was saying, "and it's about damn time you started thinking of your own happiness for a change."

"Agent Lisbon is just an interesting woman I've only recently met, and would like to get to know better. Don't read too much into this."

"Patrick, I love you dearly, but you are full of crap."

"As always, I appreciate your ladylike candor," he teased, giving her his most angelic smile.

He'd met Hightower years before. She'd been the chief detective with the Santa Barbara Police Department, in charge of the investigation into his wife's murder. He'd been impressed with her kindness and compassion, but it was through her that he'd found that most of the police departments in southern California were extremely shorthanded, and they'd recently had to cut down on patrols near the beaches to deal with the increasing crimes inside the cities. What's more, upon further research, Jane had found similar shortages all across America.

Hightower proved to be thorough and dogged in her investigation, but despite her devotion to tracking down every possible lead, Angela's murderer had never been found.

Hightower had gone on to join the CBI, and as Jane had thrown himself into the world of politics and the pursuit of anti-crime legislation, he'd called upon her frequently for advice and insight. When he'd considered his run for president, he'd thought of her immediately as his running mate. She'd been tough on crime as a special agent, but had been even tougher on Jane to get himself back in the saddle dating-wise. Next to Mashburn, Madeline was his closest friend.

"I plan to keep things very casual with Teresa," Jane continued, "so like I told Charlotte, don't get your hopes up."

"Charlotte doesn't have a problem with your dating? Well, isn't that interesting."

"Madeline, my dear, you are a wonderful friend and an excellent vice president, but Dolly Levi you are not. Witness the disaster that was Kristina Frye."

"I had nothing to do with the fizzling of that relationship, Patrick. The blame for that falls directly upon your pretty head."

"I wasn't ready then," he said, meeting her eyes seriously.

She nodded in understanding. "No, but I think you might be now," she said, following his gaze to Agent Lisbon, who seemed suddenly not to be enjoying herself.

"What the hell is he saying to her?" Jane muttered through gritted teeth. He couldn't see Mashburn's face to read the man's lips, but he could clearly see that Lisbon appeared almost stricken.

"Mashburn? Not everyone gets his charming sense of humor," she commented dryly.

By the time the dance ended, Hightower could feel the anxiety suffusing Jane's body, and he was fairly chomping at the bit to find out what was going on with his date.

"Excuse me, Madeline," he said, after escorting her back to her husband.

"Go get her, partner," she said with an indulgent smile, but he was already too far away to hear her.

It took a few minutes to get through the crowd on the dance floor, and Jane had to pass on a few dance invitations from a beautiful senator and the Secretary of Education, putting them off politely while he went in search of his date. He found Lisbon in the parlor just off the ballroom, exchanging her empty shot glass for a glass of champagne from a passing waiter's tray.

He nodded to his guests, but didn't stop to engage them in conversation, which was his usual habit. Instead, he made a beeline for Lisbon, frowning when he saw her drink half her glass in one gulp.

"Go easy on that stuff," he told her, his smile tight with concern. "It's not called Iron Horse for nothing."

She flushed, both from his presence and the alcohol.

"Sorry. Dancing makes me thirsty."

"You're upset," he said simply, too angry himself to beat around the bush. "What did Walter say to you?"

She was surprised that he already knew, surprised at his anger. She sighed. "Nothing really. He was very polite."

"Teresa."

"Look, this—us—_we_ are probably not such a good idea. You're a busy, powerful man, and I live in California. You know that old saying about the fish and the bird—where would we live?"

Jane stared at her a moment, looking deeply into her eyes, evaluating, considering. Was she truly not interested? No, he thought, looking deeper still, that wasn't it at all.

"The Eighth Amendment be damned," he said coldly, "I'll have the bastard drawn and quartered for this."

Lisbon laughed and looked around nervously. Her hand went out to tentatively touch his arm. "No, don't be angry. He's your friend; he's concerned about you. He's worried I'll be a distraction, that I'll break your heart. Silly, isn't it? We barely know each other."

He looked down at the contrast of her white hand on the dark sleeve of his tuxedo jacket, and he felt the anger drain out of him. He was amazed to find that, much like Charlotte, she had the power to instantly calm him. And no, Jane realized, the fact that she might be a beautiful distraction from his loneliness, from the weight of the world upon his shoulders, wasn't silly at all.

"I apologize for Walter. He had no right to upset you. I like you, Teresa. I like you a lot. And I don't know where the fish lives with the bird, but I'm sure if it's important enough to both of them, they'll find a way to make it work."

She smiled. "Maybe."

His heart gave a mighty thump at the promise in her eyes.

He cleared his throat. "Now," he said, taking the half-empty glass from her hand and setting it on a nearby table. "I believe you owe me another dance."

"Yes, Mr. President, I suppose I do."

**A/N: Coming up, things definitely heat up between our bird and fish, but in case I don't get another chapter in before Thursday, I wish everyone a blessed Christmas! **

**Thank you once again for reading.**


	4. Magical Properties

A/N: Surprise! I didn't think I'd be able to squeeze another chapter in, but here's a bonus chapter to wish you a Merry Christmas. Thanks for the reviews of the last chapter (if you missed chapter 3, you might want to read it first). I used my free time to write, not reply, so I'm hoping this extra chapter will let you know how much I appreciate your kind reviews.

**Chapter 4: Magical Properties**

"You rang?" said Mashburn the next morning, upon entering the Oval Office, the Sunday paper under his arm. He of course new why he was being summoned, and he braced for the impact.

The president wasn't sitting casually upon the couch, but was in his more formal receiving position behind his massive desk. This did not bode well.

"Sit down, Walter."

He sat in an armchair directly across from his boss.

"Look, Patrick, no need to get your boxers in a twist, I was only giving the lady fair—"  
>"Shut up, Walter."<p>

Mashburn closed his lips tightly. This might end up being even worse than he thought.

"I completely understand your motivations, and you can thank the lady in question for my not firing your ass—or worse."

Mashburn raised a single eyebrow, but remained silent.

"That's right, she defended you, which shows me what a wonderfully forgiving person she is. I trust there will be no more interfering in my personal business?"

"No, sir," said Mashburn contritely.

"Good. Now get the hell out of my office, but make sure you're on your best behavior tonight. Teresa is coming over for a more…informal visit."

"Is she?"

"Yes."

Mashburn rose, feeling relief wash over him that he hadn't gotten the reaming he'd expected (and probably deserved), but halfway back to the door, he turned around. As usual, it wasn't in him to let some things lie.

"You pay me to tell you what I think, Patrick. And what I told Agent Lisbon was correct. You don't have time for heartbreak. I saw firsthand how losing Angela nearly broke you. Now, it's not just yourself and Charlotte you have to consider, it's the entire country."

"Walter—"

"I can see how this woman is affecting you already, can see the potential for your getting seriously wrecked if things go south."

"What the hell? You've been trying to get me to date for ten years, Walter. Now I'm finally interested in someone, and you want to nip it in the bud after the first date?"

Mashburn moved closer to Jane's desk again, lowering his voice. "What I was suggesting was sex, Patrick. You know, dipping your quill before the damn thing falls off from disuse? I see how you look at her. It's not just going to be about sex with Teresa. See for yourself."

Remembering the newspaper he'd brought, Mashburn held it up for Jane to see. Above the fold was a color photo of Jane and Teresa Lisbon dancing, both of them looking very cozy and enraptured with one another. Jane was smiling down into her eyes, admiration shining clearly for everyone to see.

This was the headline: _A new love for the president?_

"Give me that," said Jane, reaching across his desk to grab the paper. He scanned through the article, noting with a smile how positive it was, how it painted him in an entirely different light.

"It's all over the internet, and the Sunday morning talk shows too," said Mashburn in annoyance.

Jane looked up from the paper to stare at his longtime friend, and for a moment he was taken back to those horrible days after Angela's murder. Mashburn had been there for him then, had even helped take care of Charlotte. He understood how much higher the stakes were now, how Mashburn must feel the added pressure to serve both his friend and the president. His face relaxed.

"I see potential with her too, Walter, but I'm a different man now. I've been through one of the worst things life can throw at a person, and I survived. I've had to be tough for Charlotte and for my country. And yes, you were integral in my survival, but you don't need to be so fearful now. No matter how this turns out, I'll be fine, I promise."

Mashburn still looked skeptical, and Jane grinned.

"Wasn't getting remarried one of the things you suggested to insure my election? You said you feared a single man might be suspect, might suggest to the voters the rise of a Playboy White House?"

"Well, yeah. But then I saw how the pity vote totally worked for you. You don't want to throw that away do you? You have to think about your next term…"

Jane frowned. "I hope you're not suggesting I won the election because people felt sorry for me."

"Oh, come on, Patrick, you know human nature better than anyone. Sympathy was certainly part of it. I'm not saying you milked it for votes, but it ultimately helped your crime platform that you'd experienced the effects of violence personally."

Jane tapped a finger on the newspaper he'd set on his desk. "Aw, but now I've become a more romantic figure, rather than an object for pity. This is a positive thing, Walter. What are they saying on TV?"

"Someone on CNN said they worried she might distract you from the upcoming UN conference, but other than that, I've heard nothing but positivity and enthusiasm." It pained him to admit it though.

Jane grinned. "See there? You should be happy right now. More interest in my personal life could only inspire more interest in my policies." Not that he would make a point of discussing his personal life, but it was all about perceptions; he'd learned that years ago when perceptions had been his bread and butter.

"Maybe," conceded Mashburn reluctantly. "But only if things go well."

Jane sighed. "I know you're concerned, but I think Teresa is worth taking a chance on. I admit there might be some…obstacles, but you've got to let me see where this takes me."

"Ok, I'll back off. But you should probably talk to Agent Lisbon about this too, don't you think? She's not running for anything, and may not want to be followed around by the paparazzi, or have her whole life laid out for all the world to see."

Jane hadn't thought of that. Why hadn't he? _Was _he slipping? Selfishly pursuing his own desires? Maybe she _was_ addling his brain some, he marveled.

"I already have people researching her past, looking for red flags that might—"

"You what? By whose authority?" Jane demanded, rising to his feet.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Patrick. You know how these things work. The press started investigating her the moment you took her hand on the dance floor. It's my job to head off any potential problems or embarrassments at the pass."

Jane nodded, deflating somewhat. "You're right, of course." He looked down again at the picture of Teresa in his arms. She was so lovely, seemed so fragile, though he knew she must be very strong to be a CBI agent. Still, she hadn't signed up for this, and maybe she felt obligated to keep seeing him because he was the president, their physical attraction notwithstanding.

"Shit," he said aloud. "What if she wants out now, after this?" He glanced once more at the newspaper.

Mashburn was one of the few people who ever had occasion to see Jane vulnerable, and damned if it didn't get to him every time.

"Then she isn't the one for you," he said gently. "If she wants you, she's going to have to take all that comes with you, has to have the fortitude to withstand everything the media throws at her. I guess this will be the first test of her devotion, won't it?"

"I guess so." He looked sheepishly at his friend. "Sorry for coming down so hard on you, Walter."

Mashburn gave a grin and a shrug. "I don't blame you. I meant to apologize to her last night, actually."

"Well, you'll get the chance this evening," Jane said, and it was evident this was more than a suggestion, which was why Mashburn couldn't help yanking his chain a little more.

"You know, Teresa's a pretty special girl. She has a certain spunk that is very attractive. Why, if you hadn't already staked your claim—"

"Don't even think about it," warned Jane darkly.

Mashburn held up his hands in surrender, trying hard not to laugh. "Don't worry about me; I know which side my bread is buttered on. I will be content to worship from afar. Now, some of us don't have time to moon around like Romeo on a Sunday; I've got things to do. Am I dismissed, Mr. President?"

But by then Jane had sat back down in his comfortable leather chair, holding up the front page so he could peruse the article more carefully. He absently waved Mashburn off, and his Chief of Staff left quietly through the door, a knowing smirk on his face.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was the president's turn to bowl, and Lisbon and Charlotte sat in blue plastic chairs in the White House basement, watching Jane approach the lane, the bright blue bowling ball with its presidential seal in his left hand.

_Left hand?_

"I thought he was right-handed," whispered Lisbon in confusion.

Charlotte grinned. "He's Inigo Montoy-ing with you."

"What?"

After Jane finished his first roll, knocking down half the pins, he went back to wait for his ball to return for his second roll. Lisbon tried not to stare too hard at his jean-clad behind, tried to summon a suitable amount of feminine resentment.

"What are you two whispering about?" asked Jane, secretly pleased that the pair were getting along so well.

They had hit it off immediately over the pizza Jane had had flown in from Chicago at his own expense (and he'd guessed correctly about her faint accent), laughing together over the stringy inch-thick mozzarella it was loaded with, making jokes at his expense when he got some pizza sauce on his shirt. But Jane didn't mind at all. In fact, it made him feel warm and happy and…_right_.

Until now, when he noticed that Lisbon was frowning.

"The jig is up, Dad," Charlotte was saying. "She's a cop; why did you think you could get away with it?"

Lisbon rose to her feet, her hands on her hips in feigned annoyance.

"The fact that you felt we couldn't beat you if you played right-handed is deeply insulting to all of womankind," she chided in her best CBI boss voice. "What do you think the people of America would say to your setting back the woman's movement by fifty years?"

Jane had the grace to look sheepish. "I was just giving you a fighting chance. You couldn't beat me right-handed. Nothing personal—it's a statistical impossibility."

"Oh really?" she challenged, moving closer to him to stand ugly bowling shoe to bowling shoe with him. She was several inches shorter, and as she looked up at him, sparkling green eyes belying her challenging stance, Jane felt an overpowering need to take her right there in the middle of the shiny wooden bowling lane. He felt the color rise in his cheeks as he remembered they had an audience.

"Yes," he said, then cleared his throat. "I always bowl a perfect game using my right hand. _Always_."

Lisbon glanced at Charlotte, who was nodding painfully. "It's true. Disgusting, isn't it? It's no fun playing any games with him—not Chess, not _Scrabble;_ and God help us all if it's _Trivial Pursuit_."

"Is that so?" said Lisbon thoughtfully, her eyes returning to the president. "Tell me, Charlotte, do you have a game console?"

Charlotte's lips quirked in amusement. "Yes."

Jane looked genuinely terrified.

"You have Super Mario Kart?" Lisbon asked, eyes still on the president.

"Uh-huh. But you may as well forget about that. Dad doesn't do video games. He is totally technologically challenged. He only just got a smart phone after the election last year..."

"I see how it is. You two are conspiring against me. Here I was just being a polite host, letting you enjoy the amenities of the White House—"

"Bullshit," said Lisbon within the guise of a fake cough. Charlotte laughed in delight. "It's nothing but a power trip for you, is it…_Mr. President_?"

"Oh, I like this girl," said Charlotte, standing up in excitement. She toed off her bowling shoes. "I'll go fire up the Nintendo!"

When she was gone, Jane, took another step closer. She didn't move away.

"I like that you feel comfortable enough to joke around with me," he said. "Not many people are brave enough anymore."

"In the short time I've known you, Mr. President, I've come to realize that you are, in fact, a human being, with a sense of humor and everything."

His lips quirked. "Now you're just being rude."

She grinned, and it faded a bit as his hand coming up to brush a lock of her hair from her cheek. Her eyes darkened with the first stirrings of desire, and his breathing audibly increased.

"After this, she'll be impossible to live with you know," he murmured.

Her smile was delayed and a bit wobbly. His touch, his nearness, made it difficult to concentrate on what he was saying.

"Charlotte?" she asked. "I uh, have a niece her age. We never hear the end of it when she…when she beats my brother at video games—especially the shooting ones."

"She likes to shoot?" he asked, his fingers gliding experimentally over the soft skin of her cheek. She closed her eyes briefly, blissfully, and it was all she could do not to press her face into his palm. "Maybe she'll become a cop one day like her aunt."

He had been leaning his head slowly down until his lips hovered above hers, and things began to seem a bit fuzzy around the edges, his heart was beating so fast.

"Maybe," she whispered, her eyelids dropping down once more as she raised her mouth to his.

"Ahem," came the clearing throat of Walter Mashburn. Lisbon felt Jane's hand involuntarily clench upon her cheek before he abruptly dropped it and raised his head.

"Pardon me, Mr. President, but I was wondering if I could have a word with Agent Lisbon."

Lisbon stepped back, blushing to her hairline, as Jane shot Mashburn a look that would make an ordinary man tremble. But Mashburn joined them on the bowling lane, completely immune to his ire.

"I'd like to apologize for my…_indelicate_ words with you last night. I came on too strong, and wish I could take it back."

Lisbon looked from Mashburn to Jane and back again. "No apology necessary, Mr. Mashburn. What you said made a lot of sense actually."

"Nevertheless, I hope you'll forgive my bumbling delivery."

"Of course," she said. She realized that the man's boss was standing right there, and she certainly didn't want him to endanger his job over something stupid like this.

Mashburn smiled, displaying his engaging dimples.

"Prettily done, Walter," said Jane wryly, stepping closer to Lisbon. "Why don't you go home? What the hell are you doing at work on a Sunday evening anyway?"

Mashburn's smile widened. "I have no idea. I'll see you in the morning, Mr. President. A pleasure to see you again, Agent Lisbon."

"Mr. Mashburn."

The mood was broken somewhat, although if Lisbon had had any doubts that he thought of her in more than a professional capacity, their near kiss would have confirmed it. He smiled.

"Ready to go watch me get trounced by a teenager?" he asked.

"I can't wait," she said, her eyes still a bit dreamy as she looked at him. He was very tempted to pick up where they had started.

He held out his arm, indicating she precede him out the door leading to the staircase.

"I have a very serious question to ask you, Teresa," he said, watching her hips with delight as she climbed the stairs in front of him. She nearly missed a step at his question.

"Yes?"

"What the hell is Super Mario Kart?"

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"I know the President of the United States is never supposed to admit defeat, but you've both beaten me to the pit. I'm ready to negotiate the terms of surrender."

Jane placed his steering wheel-shaped game controller on the coffee table with frustration, while Lisbon and Charlotte high-fived and whooped in triumph. They were in the private sitting room just outside the president's bedroom, playing the video game on a big screen television.

The three of them sat on a long leather couch that had seen better days. It was very comfortable and soft, but when Lisbon first saw it, she felt it was rather incongruous with the rest of the lavish furnishings.

"Dad had it shipped here from California," Charlotte had said, noticing her interest in the old piece of furniture. It seemed she was as perceptive as her father.

Jane had laughed. "That couch had been in my office when I was a State Representative," he'd told her. "I spent many a night on that thing when I had to work late. When we moved into the White House, I knew right away something was missing."

"I suppose you're entitled to one vice," she'd teased, pretending to turn up her nose at the scratched leather.

"Try it out, Agent Lisbon, and you will soon see that this couch has magical properties. It might have even had something to do with my election."

She'd lifted a skeptical eyebrow, but complied. It was surprisingly comfortable, the brown leather worn soft as butter.

"He still sleeps on it sometimes," added Charlotte, plopping down beside her. "I've caught him doing it, even though he has this gigantic bed fit for a king."

Jane shrugged and patted his couch lovingly. "Magical properties," he reiterated, and Charlotte rolled her eyes.

"Let's see how magical it is when we kick your butt at Mario Kart," the teenager quipped. He sat down on the other side of Lisbon, and gave her conspiratorial wink that made her stomach flip over.

"Only one way to find out," he said softly.

Lisbon was amazed she'd been able to play the game at all, given Jane's close proximity. Every time either she or the president moved, their legs would touch, sending a jolt of awareness coursing through them. This only served to heighten the tension between them, to send the adrenalin pumping as they played the silly game.

"Hmm," said Lisbon now, regarding Jane's terms of surrender. "My partner and I need to confer on that."

Lisbon and Charlotte whispered urgently for a minute, before Charlotte rose and opened a drawer of the TV stand. She brought out another game and two microphones, one of which she handed to her father.

"Noooo," Jane said on a moan as he stared in horror at the hateful thing in his hand.

Lisbon laughed. "You promised me karaoke. We demand that you sing—those are our terms."

"Traitor," muttered Jane to Charlotte, who giggled and put the game into the console.

"Don't worry, Dad, we'll go easy on you. We'll do Christmas music—anyone can sing that stuff. You won't even have to see the words."

The first notes of "Jingle Bells" began to play, the lyrics flashing on the TV screen.

"Stand up, Mr. President, so we can watch you perform," insisted Lisbon, giving his back a little shove.

Jane frowned, but did what he was told. A little late to the music, he began to sing:

"Dashing through the snow, in a one-horse open sleigh…"

He truly was incredibly awful, and Lisbon and Charlotte's groans just made him ham it up even more. He was hopelessly out of tune, his voice even breaking a couple of times with the strain of finding the right notes. By the end of the song, it was Lisbon and Charlotte begging for surrender.

Although his face was flushed with embarrassment and restrained laughter, he bowed gracefully amidst half-hearted applause.

"Wow," said Lisbon, looking at the president in awe. "You weren't kidding. That was the worst singing I've ever heard in my life. As a matter of fact, if World War III ever started, your version of 'Jingle Bells' could be our first line of attack."

Charlotte laughed. "His singing could jam their communications—"

"We could broadcast it over loudspeakers," added Lisbon, openly laughing now.

"I don't know, that might violate the Geneva Convention—"

"All right, all right," he said, trying to sound stern, though his eyes were laughing.

It was a sign of true greatness, Lisbon thought in admiration, when a man can genuinely laugh at himself.

He handed his microphone to Lisbon. "Your turn, _Ms_. Pavarotti."

She looked down at the microphone in her hand, then back at Jane, suddenly terrified that she would actually be singing before the president. His eyes softened at her obvious discomfort.

"I won't laugh, I promise," he said kindly. "Even though you both deserve to be roasted mercilessly after your totally disrespectful treatment of me, your president and father." He gave Charlotte a look of mock annoyance.

"We'll sing a duet," Charlotte volunteered, jumping up with her own microphone in hand. Jane was proud of how she was putting their guest at ease, especially since Lisbon seemed extremely relieved.

And so they sang the classic, "What Child is This?"

Lisbon's voice was tremulous at first, but soon her love of the music gave her more confidence, so that by the end, she and Charlotte were belting it out sweetly, clearly, as if they'd been singing together for years.

Jane blinked, hoping he wouldn't show how emotional just watching them had been for him. It had been a mistake, he realized, denying Charlotte a mature feminine influence. Teresa had teased him about being perfect, but clearly, she was the epitome of everything a woman could be—kind, accomplished, strong, smart, funny, beautiful—a wonderful example for Charlotte.

It occurred to him Lisbon would be returning to California in a matter of days, in effect, slipping through his fingers, while Charlotte would never have time to learn from her.

He didn't know how he felt about that.

They finished their song, Jane applauding and even whistling in appreciation, two fingers in his mouth. The two women curtsied, but politely refused an encore.

"I gotta study for a history test tomorrow," Charlotte said with genuine regret. She turned to Lisbon. "It was very nice meeting you, Agent Lisbon."

"You too, Charlotte, but please call me Teresa," she said, giving the girl a warm hug. "We've fought in close combat together, remember?"

Charlotte laughed. "I hope you come back, Teresa," Charlotte added sincerely.

"I would love to." Her eyes strayed to Jane, who nodded hopefully back, his expression awakening the butterflies within her.

Charlotte leaned down and hugged her father, kissing his cheek. "'Night, Dad," she said, then she whispered in his ear: "She's a keeper."

Jane rose from the couch, hugging his daughter back…tightly. "Good night, sweetheart," was his soft reply.

When she'd gone, he smiled at Lisbon. "Well, this has been a very humbling evening. Getting pizza sauce on my shirt, losing a video game to two women, being forced to embarrass myself with a microphone…"

Lisbon chuckled. "It's good to get your ego in check from time to time. I'm sure it will make you an even better president."

His smile dimmed a bit, his face turning thoughtful. He reached out to touch her hair again, much like he had earlier in the bowling alley. He felt her tremble a little at his touch, her eyes widening. "I wonder if you'll ever stop thinking of me as the president," he said wistfully.

She swallowed. "It's who you are," she said simply. "Not something I can forget very easily, Mr. President."

"It might be easier if you call me Patrick."

"On the contrary," she said, looking bravely into his blue-green eyes, "I'm not sure how _easy_ it would be if things became more…personal between us."

He dropped his hand. She was right, of course. Getting closer to her—in any kind of way—would certainly complicate matters. As right as things seemed between them, between Teresa and Charlotte too, he still wasn't sure he was ready, though everything within him strained to be near her, to kiss her, to take her into his private bedroom just beyond the door.

"You're probably right," he said aloud. His smile this time was bittersweet, and Lisbon felt sad that she had been responsible for putting a pall on the evening. She was about to say good-night, when he surprised her again by reaching for her hand.

"Would you like the nickel tour," he asked. "It really is a beautiful house. Lots of history if you're into that kind of thing," he teased.

She found herself saying yes, and squeezing his hand. He led her through the amazing Yellow Oval Room, which he explained was a receiving room for other heads of state, and she admired the crimson furniture and contrasting yellow walls, along with another amazing chandelier. Next, came the Treaty Room, so-called because upon its walls hung copies of treaties signed in the White House by various presidents of the past. The walls were white, the windows hung with olive green velvet. Jane currently used it as his personal study, with a comfortable wingback chair and ottoman in one corner, a nearby table stacked with old books.

"Now," he said, taking her out into the hall, then back to open the door of another room. "Probably the most famous room in the house, next to the Oval Office, of course."

She stood at the opening, staring in awe at the ornate, crown-shaped headboard that extended high above the rosewood bed. The room was furnished in shades of brown and gold.

"This isn't—"

"Yes it is. The Lincoln Bedroom."

"Oh, my God," she breathed. Then she turned back to him, her eyes wide. "Have you seen Lincoln's ghost in this room?"

Jane laughed. "Not yet. Though if all the stories are to be believed, he's been seen standing at the window, looking out on the south lawn."

She shivered again. "But Lincoln never actually slept here, right?"

"No. But this was his office, where he signed the Emancipation Proclamation. I imagine if he does haunt the place, it's because he felt like he had left a lot still undone."

"Hmm," she said, releasing his hand to explore the room in awe. "You sound like you don't really believe."

"Not in ghosts, not like you see in the movies anyway. If ghosts haunt us, they do it within our minds, I think."

She looked over at him, still standing in the doorway where she'd left him. She had the feeling he was talking about his dead wife. She nodded, but didn't voice those particular thoughts.

"Ghost or not, it's lovely," she said, and smiled gently at him. "I could see why someone would never want to leave here."

He continued the tour of other bedrooms and sitting rooms, ending the tour in the family's private kitchen. He went to the stove and put on the teakettle.

"Would you like to join me for a cup of tea?"

It was well known that the president preferred tea to coffee, and she smiled and accepted the invitation, though normally she was a coffee girl, herself.

While the water was boiling, Jane turned to the massive stainless steel refrigerator, opened it, and peered intently inside. "There's still some cold pizza left, if you're feeling peckish."

She laughed, holding her stomach lightly. "No, thanks. I'm still full from dinner."

But then he brought out a tray of mini chocolate cheesecakes, which she recognized from the ball the night before but had been too nervous to taste.

"There's always room for dessert, right?" he said temptingly, removing the plastic wrap with a flourish.

Her eyes brightened and she walked over to the counter to look at the delicious bounty spread before them. Chocolate was her main weakness, she thought. Well, that and her latest addition to the list-mischievous sea-green eyes.

She reached for a tiny cake, but he was too quick for her, picking one up and poising it before her lips before she had the chance to retrieve one herself. Jane didn't know what possessed him to do it-perhaps the ghost of Lincoln himself-but he had the undeniable urge to feed her with his hands.

Their eyes met, clashed, and her pulse increased exponentially. She opened her mouth and he slipped the cheesecake halfway between her lips. She took a hesitant bite, and he watched with intense fascination as she slowly chewed.

He absently ate the other half himself, while she continued to chew without really tasting the richness on her tongue. All her senses focused on how much she wanted him.

"I'd very much like to kiss you," he said, need roughening his voice. "But I wanted to give us both a moment to think about it first. You know, look at this logically, weigh the pros and cons…"

She wondered if he was mocking her a little, but how could he possibly know that's how she made important decisions? But Lisbon was tired of just thinking about things for once, logically or otherwise.

With a confidence that surprised them both, she walked the last step into his arms, her fingers sliding into his hair as she pulled him down to her mouth. _Now_, she tasted the chocolate, more delicious on his lips, dark and bittersweet, and she heard herself make an appreciative sound in her throat as he delved into the hot silk of her mouth.

She felt his arms enfold her, pressing her closely to his firm, warm body, denim against denim, cotton straining over heaving chests. Her tongue coiled round and round his, and all she could think of was going deeper, of consuming him as they had the rich cheesecake. His hands found her derriere, cupped her, pulled her closer still until she could feel how much he wanted her. Her legs grew weak, and as if sensing it, he pushed her against the counter for support. His hands moved up her sides to the settle beneath the curves of her breasts, his mouth never leaving hers.

He hadn't kissed a woman like this in ten years, and Jane wondered fleetingly if he'd ever kissed any woman this way at all. Jane's mind turned uncharacteristically to mush. He didn't think, only felt, his entire body in an immediate state of arousal, his senses overwhelmed by her taste, her heavenly scent, her heated response to his kisses.

He was about two seconds from lifting her onto the counter when, from a distance, he heard the concerned voice of one of his Secret Service agents.

"Is everything all right, sir?"

The teakettle must have been whistling for some time, but neither of them had heard it. Jane stepped hastily away from Lisbon, just as the dark suited guard came into full view of the kitchen counter. If the man had seen anything, Jane knew he would take it to his grave.

Jane moved jerkily to turn off the burner, and the room became blessedly silent.

"Fine. Fine," Jane said, his back to the agent. Lisbon turned away also, embarrassment coloring her face a deep rose, her breasts rising and falling rapidly as she held on to the counter for dear life.

"Sorry sir. Just making sure."

"Of course," said Jane, turning to offer the man a reassuring grin. "Carry on."

When they were alone again, he glanced sheepishly at Lisbon.

"Now I understand how Charlotte feels," he said, accompanied by a nervous chuckle, his hands raking through his hair just as Lisbon had done mere moments before. For the first time ever, he felt like he was a prisoner in this beautiful house.

"What?" she asked, startled by the invocation of his daughter's name.

"Never mind."

He didn't trust his shaking hands to pour the boiling water, so he turned back to Lisbon. She looked so beautiful, her lips red and swollen from their passionate kisses, that it was all he could do not to carry her down the hall past the vigilant Secret Service agents, past the Blue Room, where his daughter was studying, and finish what they'd started in the semi-privacy of his bedroom.

_Shit_, he thought.

"You still want that tea?" he asked lamely.

_No, just you._

Her thoughts were so loud he could almost hear them. Hell, he was thinking the same damn thing himself.

"No thank you," she said aloud. "Maybe I…I should be going."

He could tell she understood that it wasn't a very good example he'd be setting for Charlotte, sleeping with a woman he'd only just met with his daughter right down the hall.

"Yes. Maybe. Although…I want you to stay more than I can say."

Her eyes mirrored his feelings exactly.

"Me too," she whispered shyly.

Tea and cheesecake forgotten, he walked her back to the sitting room where she'd left her purse, then accompanied her down the Grand Staircase. Lisbon marveled graciously at its beauty, though nothing could have been as wonderful as kissing this magnificent man.

He took her hand at the bottom of the stairs, brought it to his lips.

"I had fun," he said simply, and he meant it in every possible way. "I'll call you tomorrow to set up another meeting about the uh, task force."

Her eyebrows rose in amusement. It wasn't even about the task force anymore, and they both knew it. "Okay."

He had no idea in hell how he was going to arrange this, however. His assistants had every minute of every day accounted for. All he knew was he had to see her again. Right or wrong, birds and fish be damned, he had to find the time to kiss that amazing mouth of hers.

"Jim," he called, and from out of nowhere came one of his guards.

"Yes, sir?"

"Please escort Agent Lisbon out the sneaky way, will you?"

"Of course, sir.

"Until tomorrow," he said to Lisbon with a smile.

"Yes," she replied. Her dimples appeared, making him feel slightly dizzy.

And then she was gone, following her escort into a side passageway.

_Jesus,_ he muttered to himself, his hands sliding down his face. His body was still humming from their interlude in the kitchen.

Halfway up the stairs, he sat down heavily on the red carpeting, reliving every moment of one of the best evenings he'd had in years, nearly surpassing his Inauguration day. He was startled when his cell phone pinged an incoming text. It was Lisbon.

_Good night, Mr. President._

Jane laughed aloud.

_That's PATRICK, remember?_

Her only response was one of those silly smiley faces Charlotte always used. He tried texting Lisbon three more times, but she was apparently done with him for the night, like any smart woman, leaving him wanting so much more.

The emoticon had done its work, however; he went to bed with the same silly smile upon his face.

**A/N: Okay, I admit it must be the season that is making me write such fluff, but I hope you didn't find it too sickly sweet. Once again, I thank you for reading! Your support of this fic warms me up better than hot chocolate ;).**


	5. Universal Ramifications

A/N: Thank you once again for all the great reviews. You are all too kind and generous, and I am very flattered and humbled. This chapter is on the long side (hope you don't mind) and definitely rated M toward the end, so please be advised.

**Chapter 5: Universal Ramifications**

After Lisbon had sent her text to the president, she noticed she had about twenty texts and voice mails that she'd missed while her phone had been off. She sat back against the car seat while her White House driver maneuvered through DC traffic, the windshield wipers swishing off the light snow that was falling. Lisbon's face contorted with concern; having a lot of messages generally wasn't a good sign when you're a CBI agent.

The first text was from Van Pelt.

_OMG, Boss! You look beautiful!_

She'd attached a picture of a newspaper, the front page of which displayed the image of the president and her dancing at the ball.

"Oh, my God," she whispered, echoing the message. She cringed at the headline, her face warming as she still felt the tingle of his lips on hers.

She scrolled through the other messages—more of the same from other coworkers and friends who had seen the picture, or kindly passed it on to her. The voice mails were from her brothers, wondering what the hell was going on, and was she dating "the fucking President of the United States?"

How the hell had she missed seeing this herself? she wondered.

She quickly went over her day in her mind. Her phone had been off for several hours this evening, out of respect for being in the president's company, which explained why she'd missed her messages. This morning, she hadn't even watched the news, let alone taken the time to read the paper. She'd gone jogging around the National Mall in the crisp morning air, come back to the hotel and showered, then spent the rest of the day wandering through several of the Smithsonian museums, while mentally preparing herself to see the president in his private rooms that night. Reading and going online had been the last things on her mind. She'd been floating on a cloud of romance from the ball, reliving their dances over and over again like Cinderella, remembering how he'd looked at her, said her name.

As they pulled up to her hotel, reality came crashing down on her. The press, who had been lying in wait for her return, immediately surrounded the car. They'd found out where she was staying. Cameras flashed and questions were already being yelled at her through the windows.

The driver, a burly man named Teddy, turned around to look at her in the back seat.

"I'll escort you in, Miss," he said kindly. "Stay close to me."

"Holy shit," she muttered.

After the Red John case, the press had been on her and her team briefly, seeking additional comments for the ten o'clock news, but they'd been generally polite, and had only questioned her in front of the CBI building; they had not gone to her home. This, she thought, as Teddy got out of the car, was something else entirely.

She was inordinately grateful for her driver's large size as he propelled her before him through the paparazzi, but the few yards between the car and the entrance to the hotel seemed more like miles. Cameras continued to flash, nearly blinding her at times, and she knew now why movie stars wore sunglasses, even at night. Every step of the way, the reporters were hurling questions like stones, which she wisely refused to answer, though some of them made her want to sink into the ground in embarrassment.

"Did you just come from the White House?"  
>"Will you be seeing him again?"<p>

"What's it like to dance with the president?"

"Are you sleeping with him?"

The doorman of the hotel, used to the press who tended to follow famous guests, held the door open quickly for her, ushering her inside and closing the door firmly against the fray.

"Are you all right, Miss?" Teddy asked politely, once they were safe in the lobby.

"Yes, I'm fine. Thank you." She looked back at the crowd still milling at a legal distance from the entrance of the hotel. "Sorry," she felt compelled to say.

"Part of the job, Miss."

He tipped his driver's cap and wished her a good night, then ventured outside again, the reporters parting like the Red Sea so the big man could return to the car.

Teddy hadn't seemed too surprised by the presence of the paparazzi, she realized on the way up in the elevator. Which meant that the president must have been aware of the newspaper photo, aware that reporters might be surrounding her hotel, and maybe even the White House.

Now she knew what Jane had meant when he'd had the Secret Service agent take her out the "sneaky way."

Why the hell hadn't he told her?

"Because he assumed I'd know," she said to herself.

The elevator stopped on her floor and she got out, fishing the keycard from her pocket as she walked. She passed a couple going out for the evening. Their eyes widened at the sight of her.

"Hey, you're dating the president, right?" asked the woman

"Sorry. You're mistaking me for someone else," she replied, before hastily letting herself into her room. She drew the bolt behind her, leaning her back heavily against the door.

What had she gotten herself into?

Her hand itched to call the president, and she held up her phone to do so, surprised to see it was still clutched tightly in her hand. There were three texts from him in reply to her good-night message, but she suddenly didn't know what to say to him. She wanted to be angry with him for not discussing the photo or the press, but she really should have known better. She only need look to history to know that any women (wives or mistresses) involved with the President of the United States held endless fascination for the public, which was what sold newspapers and TV advertising. She supposed she'd been too humble, too naive to ever believe they'd take an interest in _her_.

It had all been so overwhelming, so much like a fairy tale that she'd been helplessly caught up by the excitement of the situation. But if she were totally honest with herself, it was mostly Jane's overpowering charisma that had drawn her in, blinding her to everything but him. His hot kisses had only sealed her fate—she was completely and utterly smitten, and she already knew she wouldn't be getting over him anytime soon. How do you top the President of the United States?

Tears sprang to her eyes, and she walked zombielike to her bed, throwing herself down upon it as it occurred to her what she must do. She had to leave DC, first thing in the morning. She couldn't handle this, didn't want to be the subject of late-night talk show monologues. Didn't want her name and face plastered all over the tabloids for all the world to see and scoff at. She wanted to go back to her challenging and interesting and _private _job, where she was taken seriously and well-respected. She'd even appreciate her boring, quiet life outside of work, despite her occasional loneliness or the shame of one-night stands.

Yes, leaving now would be the safe and sane thing to do. The _Teresa Lisbon_ thing to do. But it already tore at her heart to think that she would never see him again—at least not in person. And how would _that_ feel, watching him on television, knowing how close she had been to him, how she'd kissed that sexy mouth, run her fingers through his soft curls? Their mutual attraction would have had the potential to become something real, something beautiful, something permanent—had he just been an average Joe. She'd been so stupid to think that the distance between their homes would be their biggest obstacle.

She let herself cry there, alone in her beautiful hotel room, one night of which would pay for a month's rent on her apartment at home. She wept for what had happened, for what might have been, for the loss she was already feeling with his absence. She allowed her fingers to touch her lips, to remember his warm, seeking mouth there, to relive the anticipation she'd felt as his hands had settled just below her aching breasts. She gave herself twenty minutes of self-pity, then she retrieved her laptop from her luggage and pulled up the airline website.

The reason why Teresa Lisbon was so good at her job was because she was able to make the hard decisions, and to make them quickly. This, she told herself as she booked the first available flight the next morning, could be no exception.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lisbon awoke to the news that a foot of snow had fallen overnight; her flight indefinitely delayed. She rolled over in bed, burying her face in the pillow in frustration. She was angry with the goddamn snow, angry that she'd been caught up in this impossible situation of her own making, angry that she'd had hot, erotic dreams of him half the night—and lain awake and thought about him the other half.

She knew he would be calling her soon, setting up their meeting for the day. So, in a childish effort to take back some control of her life, she reached for her cell phone. It was only six a.m., but she figured it was a good bet that the president was already awake. She punched in her text almost violently.

_Why didn't you tell me about the photo?_

Less than a minute later, her phone rang.

"I'm sorry," said the president. "I thought you knew."

The sound of his voice instantly calmed her, and she sighed heavily, closing her eyes at the futility of being angry with him.

"No," she said. "I had no idea until I checked my messages last night."

"I'm sorry," he said again. "Are you all right? Teddy told me there was quite a crowd outside the hotel last night. I'll send a couple of Secret Service agents with him today—"

"No," she said sadly. "Don't bother. I'm staying in until my flight can leave."

There was silence on the other end, his disappointment almost palpable.

"Is that what you want, Teresa?" he asked finally, his voice throaty with regret.

"No," she whispered, feeling the tears welling once more.

"Then don't go," he said. "Please. I should have warned you this could happen, but I wasn't thinking straight. _You_ keep me from thinking straight."

His words were causing her heart to race, but as gratifying as they were to her as a woman, she knew this was dangerous ground for him.

"That's not a good thing for a president," she said. "It's probably better I go—for both of us—hell, for the entire country!"

Jane winced at her sound logic, but then decided to change tactics. He had successfully negotiated with both sides of the aisle to get the crime bill passed—he could convince Teresa Lisbon to stay in DC a little longer.

"Charlotte really likes you," he said. "She's missed having a close female influence in her life. I heard that you lost your mother at an early age, so I'm sure you can empathize. I know she would at least want to say good-bye."

Lisbon felt the twinge of guilt and pity, but knew immediately what he was doing.

"That's dirty pool, Jane."

"_Jane_ is it now? Well, that's a step closer to _Patrick_."

_What?_ She was starting to get whiplash from his quick changes of topic.

"Sorry. That sounded disrespectful. But people generally refer to presidents by their last names. You know, Obama, Bush, Clinton…_Nixon_."

The last name of the notorious president made him grin.

"Not to mention," she continued, "that's what we do in the CBI. It's been a long time since anyone called me Teresa instead of Lisbon. And you're changing the subject…"

"Yes, you're right. The subject is your staying in DC. You know, I could call your boss, have him order you to stay."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Try me."

"I'm pretty sure that would constitute an abuse of power."

"So impeach me," he quipped. "Hey, are we having our first fight?"

She could hear the smile in his voice, and despite her annoyance, his good humor was contagious.

"You're impossible."

"You will find, Teresa, that when I want something, I don't give up very easily."

The implication being, of course, that he wanted _her. _She blushed.

"You will find, Mr. President," she countered mockingly, "that I am equally stubborn."

"One of the myriad things I like about you, Agent Lisbon. But you're forgetting the task force. You're going to run away now, with our discussions only halfway complete?"

"I will be happy to help implement that back in California. We can continue discussing any task force business via e-mail."

"Meh. E-mail. I like to see the face of the person I'm negotiating with."

"Just look at my picture as you read my e-mail," she said sarcastically.

"Like I am right now," he said, his voice lowering suggestively. She heard the rustling of a newspaper, and she could imagine his staring at yesterdays' morning edition, their dance captured for the ages. "That's not nearly good enough."

"Jane," she said, responding to the longing in his voice, the memory of their kisses coming so vividly to mind that her heart skipped a beat.

"Stay," he said. "Let me at least say good-bye in person, tie up some…loose ends."

"I don't think that's a very good idea," she said, willing her voice not to shake.

"On the contrary, it's the best idea I've had all day."

If just speaking to him made her tremble, she knew there was no way she could resist the man in person. She sighed in exasperation, desperate now to be the one to change this dangerous subject. She glanced at the bedside clock, noting they'd been on the phone for several minutes.

"Don't you have a country to run?"

"I'm between meetings," he said, but that was sort of a lie. In truth, the Prime Minister of Canada was waiting for him in the Yellow Oval Room, and Mashburn was chomping at the bit right outside the door. _They could both wait_, he thought. _The whole damn world could wait._ He almost had her now; he could taste it.

"Please, Teresa," he said softly, pouring on his notorious charm. "I have to see you one more time."

He could feel her hesitation, sensed that he was on the verge of closing the deal. But he'd underestimated her force of will.

"I'm sorry, Mr. President, but this has to be good-bye. Thank you for the wonderful time. For inviting me to the ball, and into your home. For introducing me to Charlotte. She's a lovely girl—I'll send her a note with my regrets, I promise. I had a great time with you, but all good things…Good…good-bye."

And she hung up on him, though not before he heard the tears clogging her throat. He stared at his phone in shock, then moved to call her back. Mashburn, despite his orders, chose that moment to peep inside the Oval Office.

"Mr. President, your guest is waiting."

He barely resisted throwing the phone at him. Instead, he took a deep breath, trying to focus on his presidential duties, though since the moment he'd met Teresa Lisbon, that prospect had become increasingly difficult. He pocketed his phone.

_This isn't over, Teresa_, he thought to himself. _Not even close_.

She'd figured she'd had the last word, but she'd grossly underestimated him if she thought he'd give up that easily.

"Fine. I'm coming," he said to Mashburn.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He'd requested regular updates of the weather and the airport situation, and so far, all flights were still delayed, the airport basically shut down, while the snow kept piling up. By early afternoon, the Prime Minister of Canada had returned to rest with his wife in the Lincoln Bedroom, and Jane had an unexpected block of free time. Charlotte was still at school, so there was nothing standing in his way of seeing Teresa privately.

Except that he was the most recognizable man in America.

_Shit. _He thought in annoyance, pacing a little in his office. There had to be a way.

He decided to take a quick turn about the West Wing; his staff was used to seeing him wandering aimlessly through the halls of the great mansion when there was something on his mind. They all suspected that today it must be the pretty Agent Lisbon, though none of them would ever dare to mention these suspicions. They knew not to approach him, just smiled and greeted him politely in passing, while all of them were secretly happy that maybe the lonely president had found a mate at last.

When Jane caught sight of Jim, his most trusted Secret Service agent, the grain of a plan began to germinate in his rich imagination. He knew Jim to be loyal and discreet to a fault, having brought him to the White House with him from California. At the same time, Jim was highly competent and physically imposing, and Jane literally trusted the man with his life.

"May I help you, sir?"

Jane stood closer to the guard, who had been watching unobtrusively in the long hall near the Oval Office.

"Yes, you certainly may," said Jane, sotto voce. "Tell me, how difficult would it be to get me out of here for a little while, with no one else the wiser?"

The man considered the question a moment. "Difficult. But doable."

"It has to be now."

Jim nodded in understanding. "Do you have a hooded sweatshirt, sir?"

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lisbon stared sightlessly at the television, which she'd turned on in vain attempt to focus on something else besides Patrick Jane. She picked up her phone, re-reading the texts he'd sent her, so very tempted to call him back, to tell him she'd changed her mind.

But she didn't.

She couldn't.

She had a job back in California that she loved, coworkers who counted on her. And she couldn't let the people of the United States suffer further while she selfishly monopolized any more of the president's time. The weather report had offered dire news, however, and Lisbon suspected she might not get a flight out that day. Resigned to her fate, she ordered an expensive sandwich from room service, promising herself she'd trudge out into the snow later to buy fast food for dinner. Then she would fill the time by calling Cho in California, see if there were any new cases to investigate, and maybe utilize the hotel gym to work off some of her frustrations. Anything to keep her mind off a very tempting president who had kissed her and wanted her to stay.

The confident knock on the door and the expected announcement of room service made her careless, and she didn't peak through the peephole to check for certain the visitor's identity; otherwise, she might not have answered the door to the navy-blue hooded figure that stood before her in the hallway.

When she opened the door, her hand went automatically to her gun-less hip at the sight of the suspicious stranger, until amused sea green eyes met hers and she gasped aloud.

"Jane? How the hell-?"

"If I told you…I'd have to-well, you know the rest." He grinned in triumph at his daring accomplishment. Someday he would tell her everything that had gone in to a president leaving the White House unnoticed and recklessly chaperoned. It had been like a movie, and some of the best fun he'd had in ages.

Lisbon looked down the hall to where the Secret Service man from last night—Jim, was it?—stood vigilantly near the elevator.

"Mr. President—"

"Shhh," he said, mindful of her neighbors, and pushed his way inside, taking her arm and drawing her in after him before closing and locking the door.

He removed his sweatshirt hood, and she noticed he'd worn it over his suit slacks and expensive shoes. He looked around her room, at the unmade bed, the TV tuned ironically to the old Jimmy Stewart movie, "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington," the packed suitcase near the door.

"You weren't kidding," he said. "You were just going to leave."

"Yes." Her heart was reacting in its usual crazy way to his nearness. She muted the movie to give her a moment to focus.

"What can I do to change your mind?" he asked, stepping closer to her.

"Well, I'm afraid Mother Nature took care of that for you, though actually, I wouldn't put it past you—"

He chuckled. "I can't take credit for the snow, but I _had_ considered making a call to the airport."

Her eyes widened. "You wouldn't."

The twinkle in his eye was his only answer. She sighed, moving a safer distance away.

"So, can I get you anything? Mini bar liquor? Cattle prod?"

"It's a federal offense to threaten the president," he said wryly.

She threw up her hands in exasperation.

"What part of _good-bye_ do you not understand? This has to stop, Jane, before things get too crazy, before we make an irreversible mistake that has universal ramifications."

His lips formed a straight, unhappy line. "Lots of ten-dollar words in that statement."

"I mean every penny."

Jane strolled to the window, lifting the curtain aside to look out at the distant Washington Monument, the white obelisk seemingly formed by the snowstorm itself.

"I understand why you're skittish about this," he said, his back still to her. "Frankly, I'm terrified, and it has nothing to do with the press or any _universal ramifications._"

"Well, it should," she said, but he ignored her obstinacy.

He was quiet a moment, considering his next words carefully. She wondered if he would dare to voice what it was that was really frightening both of them.

"It's the way you make me feel," he said, turning from the window, his eyes warm and sincere, with only a hint of the fear he mentioned. "I know you can feel it too, Teresa. It's heady and consuming and scary as hell, especially to people like us who like to be in control of things."

She couldn't deny it.

She watched him as he moved closer to her again, his gait lithe as a cat's, and everything in her told her to back away, to run even. But she made herself stand her ground, hands going defiantly to her hips. This wasn't fun and games to her. This wasn't the kind of man you slept with one night and forgot about the next. No, Patrick Jane was the kind of man you never got over, the one by which you compared all men, who ruined your ever being happy with anyone else.

"Please," she said, when he stood before her and took both her cold hands in his. He could have rightly interpreted that one word as either a request to stop or a plea to take her in his arms.

Jane chose the latter.

He dipped his head and took her mouth, stealing her breath, making her instantly dizzy with desire. Jane was conscious of time ticking past, of the fact that he had responsibilities that made this assignation risky in so many ways, but for the first time in years, he forced himself to push it all out of his mind. He wanted this woman, and what's more, he knew she wanted him—not just for his power or money or prestige—for _him_. And there was the heartbreaking possibility that he was running out of time with her. If that was the case, he thought desperately, he would do whatever he could to hold onto her for as long as he could.

His hands went to her familiar white blouse, unbuttoning it as he devoured her lips, reveled in the wildness of her hands in his hair. She was making little noises that stirred his blood, aroused him to the brink of insanity. He stepped away from her to pull the hoodie over his head, but she drew him back to her immediately, smiling as she saw that his sweatshirt disguise had covered his usual vest and dress shirt beneath it.

There came a frenzy of unbuttoning and unzipping, of stepping out of shoes and pulling off of socks, until at last they stood in only their underwear, her bra and panties soft scraps of practical cotton, his boxers the silly plaid ones Charlotte had gotten him for Father's Day.

She was more beautiful than he had imagined, in top physical form for her job, her breasts high and firm, cleavage sexy and sweetly scented. He lowered his face to the warm valley, her fingers weaving through his hair as he inhaled, then kissed his way to one hard nipple straining against its cotton cover. He nipped it between his lips and she gasped with pleasure, while his hands moved lower, slipping inside her panties to cup her well-trimmed sex.

It had been ten years, but he was remembering quickly what a man could do to please a woman. He found her other breast, nuzzling aside her bra to suckle, as his fingers worked inside of her, teasing and circling while she writhed and clutched at his shoulders for support. When her legs were suitably trembling, he dropped to his knees before her, removing her panties before she could register what was happening. His mouth moved further south of her breasts, ardently kissing her slim torso, delighting in the firm muscles of her stomach. He pressed a hot kiss on her navel, and she inhaled sharply, then shivered as his soft curls brushed her bare skin.

He looked up at her, giving her a wicked smile that gave her some clue of his intentions. Still, she was completely taken off guard when he gently draped one of her smooth thighs over his shoulder, then pulled her closer, opening her legs wider to him before he found the heart of her with his tongue.

She cried out at the erotic sensation, her face and chest blooming with color, her fingernails digging into the bare skin of his shoulders as she struggled to keep her balance. She had the vague presence of mind to wonder how they'd gotten to this place so quickly. One moment she'd been berating him for coming over here against her wishes, the next he was giving her this amazingly intense pleasure that suffused her entire body.

It was almost embarrassing how fast she came, and he continued to soothe her with his tongue as she experienced wave after wave of her orgasm.

"Oh…God," she said with a final, quavering sigh. "That was…"

She lacked the words.

He chuckled quietly and kissed her inner thigh, then placed her unsteady foot back on the carpet. Rising to his feet again, he took her into his arms to kiss her mouth, reveling in the feel of bare skin against skin. He walked her backwards toward the bed, lowering her to the coverlet. He parted from her briefly to remove his boxers, the blood pumping mightily in his ears.

Her eyes widened at the fullness of his arousal, then she looked up at him in embarrassment at her reaction. He held her gaze, his smile almost shy now. He'd taken care of her pleasure first, uncertain how long he'd be able to hold out after so many years of abstinence.

"It's been awhile for me," he told her. "And you might have certain…expectations that might fall, well, short—"

She smiled gently at him, wondering if the tabloid rumors about him had been true: had he really lived a celibate life since his wife's death?

"Come here, Mr. President," she said, and with the mischief in her eyes, his confidence was fully restored. No matter how long he lasted, he had the feeling it was going to be okay with her. She scooted farther toward the middle of the bed, then lay back, her hands drawing him down with her. He knelt beside her on the mattress, bent to kiss her lips, then her right breast, before moving to cover her body with his own. She reached between them, found his erection and gripped it tightly with one small hand.

He swore, squeezing his eyes shut at the almost painful pleasure of it.

She stroked him from the base to the wet tip, massaging the moisture there with her thumb until he stilled her hand with his. He definitely wouldn't be in this long if she continued doing more of that. Together, they guided him to her slick entrance and he hovered there, breathing so shallowly things were beginning to go black around the edges.

"It's okay," she whispered, and she raised her hips to meet him. Taking a deep breath to clear his head a little, he slid inside of her body, pushing to the hilt while they both moaned their approval. He pulled slowly back out, his muscles quivering with restraint before he slowly pushed inside again.

"Please," she said impatiently, "Patrick…"

His name on her lips was like a catalyst, and all semblance of self-control vanished in his desire to fully possess her. His initial movements were erratic, jerky, until finally he found a smooth rhythm that pleased them both. She met each thrust wholeheartedly, her heels pressing into his buttocks, taking him deeper still.

Just when she was on the verge of another soul shattering orgasm, she felt him shutter within her, a harsh cry ripping from his throat as he found his own release. Sensing her frustration, he continued to plunge into her as hard as he could until she too hurdled over the edge once more. Exhausted and blissfully sated, he let his entire weight fall upon her, his arms slipping beneath her back as if he were adjusting a pillow to his comfort. He lay his head on her heaving breasts and listened to the sound of her pounding heart beneath his ear.

After a moment, he turned his head into her damp neck, kissing her tenderly.

She smiled, though her eyes were still closed. She lay bonelessly beneath him, trying to ignore the beginnings of regret for what she'd let him do, for what she'd done, for those universal ramifications to set in. It wouldn't be long before she would have to share him with the world, so for now, she would try to enjoy this unexpected gift. Not that she could move even if she wanted to.

"I wish I'd known that's all it would take to get you to say my name," she said.

"It was involuntary, I assure you."

"Hmmm. Still stubborn, I see."

He kissed her mouth languidly, and her hands came up to his hair again. She wondered how many women had imagined what it felt like, had dreamed of being right where she was right now. She smiled as he lay his head back down on her breasts with a sigh of contentment.

"This doesn't change anything, you know," she said, and he frowned at her serious tone.

He lifted his to look at her. "On the contrary, I believe this changes everything."

"You're still the president."

"True, though after Walter finds out how I snuck out, Madeline might be up for a hasty promotion."

She smiled in spite of herself. "I can't stay here, Jane. I have a job. _You_ have a pretty important one too, by the way."

"Yes. I haven't forgotten, but it was nice not to think about it for ten minutes."

She raised a teasing eyebrow.

"Okay, _five_ minutes," he amended sheepishly. "I'll make it up to you next time, I promise."

She tried to ignore his assumption that there would be a next time. When her plane was cleared to leave, she'd be on it.

"There's nothing for you to make up for," she told him. "You definitely haven't lost your touch."

"Thank you," he said. "I'm sure you're just as much relieved by that as I am."

"How long has it been?" she asked, then regretted it instantly. "I'm sorry. That's none of my business."

"Ten years," he admitted. "I'd like to think I was waiting for you."

She stared at him, wondering at his sincerity.

"I mean that," he whispered, reading her doubt.

"But this is happening so fast between us," she said. "Why me? Why now?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. I've never believed in fate before. All I do know is, the minute I saw you, I couldn't get you out of my mind. I was drawn to you, and not just physically. And then I saw you with Charlotte, and I guess the clinched it for me. I told a friend recently that I hadn't been ready to move on, but you made me change my mind—about a great many things."

He kissed her softly between her breasts, and already he felt the renewal of his desire for her. Apparently he had a long time to make up for.

"But I'm not sure I can handle all this. I mean, just you alone—the _kind _of man you are—that's difficult. But add the fact of _who_ you are—relationships are tough enough without that little complication."

He regarded her quietly a moment.

"What do you mean the _kind _of man I am?"

She blushed. "You know what I mean. Quit fishing for complements."

He grinned at her. "Humor me."

She rolled her eyes.

"Well, you have to know how unbelievably handsome you are. And there have been entire treatises analyzing your charisma and the power you have over people."

"Hmm. And you're no exception?"

"Look where we are, Jane."

He frowned. "What happened to _Patrick_?"

"That's only for special occasions," she said softly, and he found himself kissing her again, the need for her building with every swipe of her tongue against his.

Of course, it didn't take long for Jane's actions to catch up with him. There came a soft knock on the door at the same time the phone in his pants pocket began to ring demandingly.

"Sir," said Jim from the other side of the door. "We've been made."

"Shit," he muttered, rising reluctantly from the warmth of Lisbon's body.

"I hear you, Jim," he called through the door.

He squatted down and rifled through his pants pockets to find his phone.

"Walter."

"I bet I can guess where you are in one," Walter said angrily, without preamble.

"I'm a big boy, Dad," he replied sarcastically.

"What if there had been a national emergency?"

"Was there?"

"No."

"Well, no harm done then, right? I'm on my way back now, so cool your jets. I'm sure you can hold down the fort until I travel three blocks. Good-bye, Walter."

He hung up in annoyance.

He reached for his boxers and pulled them on, aware of Lisbon's eyes traveling over his body. He was still hard for her, and physical as well as emotional frustration was setting in. He watched as she moved to get off the bed, but he paused in his dressing and held up his hand.

"Please, don't get up. I want to remember you just like this."

She flushed. "Jane, I really should-"

"Please," he repeated. He returned to the bed, his chest still bare but his pants now zipped and fastened. He bent and pressed a light kiss on her mouth.

She settled back on the bed, but slipped beneath the covers. "Okay." She could give him this, at least.

He put on the rest of his clothes in record time, sitting on the bed to slip on his socks and shoes. She moved to her knees, wrapping her arms around him from behind.

"I'm glad you came," she whispered.

He grinned, "Oh, me too," he said, his voice laden with innuendo.

She kissed his cheek, hugging him tightly as if it were the last time, because in her mind, despite what they had just shared, it was.

"You're still leaving, aren't you?" he asked with his famous perception. He turned slightly to look at her straight on, his hands resting atop hers.

"Yes," she said solemnly. "You know why."

He nodded in understanding, but Lisbon had the feeling that, despite her intentions, this wasn't the end. She didn't know exactly how to feel about that, but she'd be lying to herself if she didn't admit that part of her was excited to think that he wasn't going to give up on her.

He kissed her passionately then, trying to instill in it all the longing and sadness he could in a last-ditch effort to change her mind. When his hand cupped her naked breast, she almost gave in.

Jim's knock sounded a little more urgent this time. He touched Lisbon's cheek, then chucked her bittersweetly on the chin.

"We'll always have Washington," he quipped with a wink.

And then he went to the door. He unlocked the bolt and opened the door, moving aside suddenly as Jim wheeled in a room service tray.

"This was delivered a while ago," he said apologetically. He had assumed correctly that they wouldn't have wanted the interruption.

Lisbon pulled the blankets up to her chin in embarrassment. "Thank you."

The agent nodded and looked at the president, who was pulling on his sweatshirt one more time.

"Good bye, Teresa," he said with a smile, adjusting the hood over the curls she'd already mussed up with her hands.

He left her then without looking back, and Lisbon numbly ate her expensive sandwich before the muted TV, her teardrops seasoning the cold French fries.

**A/N: Yes, this was fast for them, but if you saw "The American President," it happened between them rather quickly as well. But the course of true love, etcetera, etcetera…I've been on a writing roll lately, so hopefully I'll have another chapter for you soon. Thanks again for reading.**


	6. You'd Better Watch Out

A/N: Thanks so much for your wonderful reviews of the last chapter. They were the perfect Christmas present. Now, I hope to return the favor…

**Chapter 6: You'd Better Watch Out**

"_Could this possibly be the President of the United States?" _asked the reporter, her voice laced withnw melodramatic intrigue. As she spoke, viewers were treated to a grainy black and white surveillance video from the St. Regis Hotel, where a man in a dark hooded sweatshirt moved quickly into the back seat of a black SUV in the hotel's parking garage.

"_It has been confirmed that this woman—forty-one-year-old Teresa Lisbon, special agent for the California Bureau of Investigation"-_and footage from her recent entry into the hotel flashed on the screen_—"seen here entering the St. Regis Hotel, is actually the same woman President Jane danced with at the annual White House Christmas Ball Saturday night."_ The picture from the ball of the pair dancing replaced the hotel scenes. "_So I ask you, could the president be arranging secret rendezvous with Teresa Lisbon? The evidence seems pretty compelling."_

The camera switched to a live shot of the reporter and her co-host of the daily entertainment show. "_But my real question is, Joe, if that was in fact the president in that SUV, how safe was his visit? One guard is all I could see—I don't think that reaches the levels of proper security protocols. What do you think, Joe…?"_

Mashburn paused one of several televisions on the wall of the Situation Room, and turned angrily to Jane.

"That's just a small sample of what we're seeing. And you don't even want to know about the internet. You know, they've already got a couple name for the two of you? _Jisbon. _ Jesus, that sounds almost pornographic. Why couldn't it have been, I don't know, _Patresa,_ or _LisJane_ or something more innocuous? Damn social media."

Jane shrugged, and had maintained a smug smile throughout the broadcast, except when he saw Lisbon's shock and fear as she was practically mobbed by the press on her way into the hotel the night before.

"What do you want me to say, Walter? She was going to leave. I had to see her again."

"She couldn't have come _here_? Although, now, with the press hot on her scent, I don't know which idea would have been worse."

"She wouldn't leave the hotel. The press is too much for her."

"Then it's probably a good idea she's leaving. Oh, she'll be hounded for awhile in California, but in a week, this will be old news."

Jane frowned. "I don't want this to be old news, at least not for me. I'm not giving her up, Walter."

Walter was torn now between anger and sympathy for his friend. He didn't want to think about the terror he'd felt upon being unable to locate the president earlier. Jane hadn't been in his private residence, hadn't answered his texts or calls, so Mashburn had gotten a pair of Secret Service agents to casually—he didn't want to cause a panic-search the entire White House for him. Then someone realized that Jim was gone too, and Mashburn quickly put two and two together.

Mashburn moved to sit in a chair to the right of Jane's at the long conference table.

"Look, I get it. I really do. You've been lonely for a long time, and you know damn well I've wanted you to find someone for years. But you're going about this all the wrong way, Patrick. You're not an ordinary man—you're the freakin' president. You can't just leave without—"

"I can't? I believe I did. I appreciate your concern about security, but the mere fact that it was spontaneous was probably the greatest guarantee of my safety."

"You could have let me know where you were going, avoided a nationwide panic."

Jane rolled his eyes at his friend's melodrama. "All's well that ends well, Walter. Take it down a notch."

"I will, if you promise me this kind of thing won't happen again."

Jane shook his head. "I'm not going to promise that, not where she's concerned. The stakes are too high, now."

Mashburn regarded Jane silently, and then a slow smile of realization spread across his face. He forgot for the moment he was talking to the president; now, he was speaking to his best friend.

"You slept with her, didn't you?"

At Jane's enigmatic smile and slight color in his cheeks, Mashburn laughed out loud.

"Well, halleluiah! Saints be praised! We should get Congress to declare this a National holiday."

But instead of sharing in Mashburn's joy, Jane looked troubled. He stood, his eyes on the paused picture of the news report, the still photo from the ball over the reporter's right shoulder. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair and began to pace alongside one end of the conference table to the other.

"You're giving me whiplash, Walter," he said raggedly. "If you're so damn happy for me, give me a little support will ya? She's leaving me. Be my friend and not my chief of staff for about five minutes and help me figure out how to get her back. Now I can do this with you or-"

Mashburn's smile faded. "I'm always your friend first, Patrick," he interrupted. "And I _am _happy for you, truly. I just don't want to see you hurt, and I don't want that to affect a job you've worked so hard to obtain. But frankly, man, this looks like a dead end to me—at least right now. She's on the other side of the country. She's not involved in the political scene, and by all counts doesn't want to be."

"But I'm sure she wants to be with me. If she would give it a chance, I know we could make this work."

Mashburn regarded his friend dispassionately. He hadn't seen him like this about a woman since Angela. Those two had certainly been a pair. It had been a love-hate relationship at first, and Jane had gone a little crazy there for awhile. He'd become obsessed to the point of recklessness until he and Angela finally admitted they were in love. After that, it was smooth sailing. Until, of course, he lost her.

Seeing his friend go through a mental meltdown was not something Mashburn wanted to repeat in his lifetime.

"You're falling for her, aren't you?" he stated almost grimly.

Jane stopped pacing to look at Mashburn. "I know it seems soon, but there it is."

Mashburn sighed in resignation. No way he could fight this now without sacrificing their friendship. "Fine. I'm sure you are already working on a plan to get her back. What do you want me to do?"

Jane grinned. "Well, if Mohammed won't come to the mountain…"

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

At two a.m. the next morning, Lisbon finally received notification that her flight would leave at five. Fortunately, the press had seemed to dissipate for the moment, and she was able to take a taxi to the airport in relative privacy. A lone paparazzo, who had braved the cold and snow, snapped her picture and called out a question, which she chose to ignore. She couldn't ignore the nondescript black SUV following her to the airport, however, and she was both touched and annoyed that Jane had been looking out for her.

It was a long flight, affording her a plenty of time to think. She relived her passionate moments with Jane over and over, alternately tearing up and becoming angry with herself—sometimes for succumbing to his charm, other times for leaving behind such an incredible man. During her layover in Dallas, however, she didn't even look at the texts or listen to her voice mail, mainly from the president. If she had, she might have jumped on the next plane heading back to DC.

Despite what her heart and body called for, she knew the logical thing would be to get out while she still retained a modicum of control of her life. She knew Jane could very easily become her entire world, and she had vowed never to let a man have that much power over her. She'd chosen her career over relationships for that very reason. She was her own woman, with her own important job; no man, not even the President of the United States, was going to stand in the way of her making a difference in the lives of the citizens of California.

It was a pretty speech she made to herself somewhere over Texas, one she'd given a hundred times over the years.

So why was she suddenly having trouble believing her own rhetoric?

She arrived in Sacramento early in the afternoon, took a cab to her apartment, another black SUV behind her. Word had gotten out that she was returning home, apparently, for the sidewalk outside her gated apartment complex was crowded with reporters. Once the gate closed behind them, one of the Secret Service agents emerged from the SUV and opened the taxi door for her, escorting her to her apartment, even carrying her luggage.

"I feel like I should tip you or something," she said flippantly.

"That's already been taken care of ma'am," he said without a trace of humor.

"Well Merry Christmas, Agent," she tried again with a smile. "I'm a state agent, you know. I think I'll be fine now, thank you."

"Merry Christmas, to you too, ma'am," he replied stoically.

And when she was safely inside, he returned to the vehicle and drove away.

After dropping her luggage on the living room floor, Lisbon went straight to her bedroom, crawling under the covers of her queen-sized bed without a shower or even brushing her teeth.

She slept for twelve hours straight.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

By Christmas Eve, Jane was going a little crazy. It had been three days since he'd made love to Teresa, and while he had been busy with meetings and parties and end of the year politicking, he still lay awake at night, thinking about her. When he slept, he dreamed of her, awakening in a cold sweat, unbearably hard.

She wouldn't respond to his messages, and while this was frustrating and even hurtful, he understood what she was doing. If he had been a less selfish man, he would have left things where they had parted, respected her wishes and gone on with his busy life without her. But those who really knew Patrick Jane, knew how ruthless he could be when it came to getting what he wanted. But he did it all with a charming smile, which was part of the reason he usually got it.

"But Dad, it's Christmas Eve! I have plans…" Charlotte was saying from her perch on his bed.

"What plans?" he asked, laying his shaving kit into his suitcase.

"Well, they involve you, actually."

Jane paused and looked at his daughter with a grin. "Oh, really? Does this have anything to do with the money you've been hoarding for the past three weeks?"

Her face fell. "You always do this, Dad. Ruin Christmas. You're worse than the freakin' Grinch."

"Teenage girls are so melodramatic," he said to the heavens. "And, you are changing the subject…_again_."

"Well, sorry; you'll just have to wait until tomorrow to find out. And no guessing," she chastised, pointing an accusing finger the moment he opened his mouth.

He chuckled. "All right, I will try my best not to _ruin Christmas_. Just take whatever you got me with us. I'll open it up tomorrow."

She was quiet a moment, considering. "I might be able to make that work…"

"I'm glad that crisis has been averted. Are you packed yet? We leave in an hour."

"Almost. We're going to see Agent Lisbon, aren't we?"

"Why do you say that?" he said casually. "We're going to visit soldiers at a couple of military bases for a Christmas surprise, among other things."

"Hmmm. You know, an old man I know once said, 'there are no such things as coincidences.'" Her voice had deepened animatedly at the end.

"An old man, eh?" said Jane in amusement, tossing in a few pairs of socks from a drawer. Of course, she was talking about him. "Old men are usually known for their wisdom."

"Well, then it must not be a coincidence that Agent Lisbon lives in California, and _we _are going to California today. Last week you said we were going to Texas. I haven't heard of anything bad happening that would keep us from going there, so something—or _someone_—must have changed your mind."

Jane moved from his drawer to the open luggage, carrying freshly laundered underwear—including a certain pair of plaid boxer shorts. He grinned, remembering.

"Dad?"

"Hm? Oh, sorry. Did you say something, sweetheart?"

She sighed, rolling her eyes in a way eerily similar to her father. "I was just wondering if Agent Lisbon changed your mind. I watch the news, you know."

"I told you not to do that," he said with mock annoyance. "Look, I haven't talked to Agent Lisbon since she left. She hasn't even returned my calls. What kind of masochist would I be would I be if flew all the way out to California to see a woman who wasn't interested?"

She looked skeptical to say the least. "Yeah, right. There's another old man saying I've heard—don't kid a kidder."

Jane walked over to his daughter, put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her forehead.

"Finish getting ready," he said dismissively.

Impulsively, she hugged him tightly. "She won't be able to resist you," she said against his shoulder.

When she pulled back after a moment, she met his eyes, saw the telltale glow of excitement there. "That's the hope," he admitted softly.

Charlotte nodded sagely. "I thought so."

With a triumphant grin, she jumped from the bed to do as she was told, nimbly moving out of the way of the swift swat aimed at her behind. She laughed merrily on her way to the door.

"Hey! Don't forget your hat," he called with a wink. She deftly caught the ball of green felt he tossed her, and with a grin, she put it jauntily atop her platinum curls. She left him to his own packing, a smile of anticipation lighting his face.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Santa Claus presented his last candy cane to the last child in Sacramento's Mercy Hospital children's ward, his short, green-clad elf handing him the final present from the bag toted by one of his other elves—a large, well-muscled specimen named Jim.

The little boy smiled shyly from his bed, his parents tearful as he opened his present.

"It's a bummer being in the hospital on Christmas Eve," said Santa. "But as you can see, I knew right where to find you." White-gloved, he patted the boy's hand, trying to ignore the IV lines, trying not to tear up himself at the sight of his little bald head.

"And Santa will have left things at the house too, right?" his mother prompted.

Santa recognized his cue. "Of course." And he patted his amply padded belly with a meaningful, "Ho, ho, ho. When you get home it will all be waiting for you under the tree."

"Oh my gosh," blurted the boy, holding up his treasure, "it's just what I wanted!"

Santa stepped back with a grin, though his snowy beard hid most of it. "You've been a very brave and good boy, I hear, Levi. Keep up the good work, and I'll see you next year."

"What do you say, Levi?" prompted his father.

"Thank you, Santa."

"You're very welcome. Now, I must get back to my sleigh before Rudolph leaves without me. I have a long night ahead of me."

"Merry Christmas, Santa," said his mother gratefully, her eyes bright.

"Merry Christmas to you all!" he replied, and with a wave of their hands and a tinkling of bells, Santa and his elves left the room, where two more elves awaited them in the hallway, their earpieces hidden by their red and green felt hats.

As the motley group walked down the hall, wishing everyone happy holidays, Santa put his arm around his littlest elf, her telltale blonde hair stuffed inside her hat, glittering makeup concealing her true identity.

_There but for the grace of God_, he thought to himself, thinking of all the sick children he'd just visited. He didn't even want to imagine what life might have been like without her.

In the parking garage of the hospital, Jane slid into the backseat of his unmarked limo, joined by Charlotte.

"One more stop, boys," he told his escorts cheerfully.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was Christmas Eve at the Sacramento CBI Headquarters, and unfortunately, Lisbon was left to finish up the paperwork left by a murder they'd just solved. She'd sent the rest of her team home early to be with family, and, since hers was all in Chicago, she thought it was only fair that she be the one to stay. She was invited to the Rigsby's for Christmas dinner the next day, so she wasn't feeling depressed, exactly, but she was feeling lonely.

She missed Jane. After two days, he'd stopped texting, and even though she'd read every one, listened to every pleading or funny voice mail, she'd resisted contacting him. With no new news or photo ops, the press had dissipated, as had her shadows. Her coworkers had stopped teasing her about her date with the president, and in the midst of holiday excitement, Lisbon's brief contact with American royalty had been nearly forgotten.

Well, by most people.

This had been what she'd wanted though, right?

It was better this way, she told herself for the hundredth time. Soon, the whole thing would seem like nothing but a dream, a fling she could relive when she was an old woman in a cop's retirement home. This was the only way she could think about it, or she would drive herself crazy with regret.

"You still here?" asked Minnelli, popping his head into her office.

"Yeah. As are you, Boss," she noted with a grin.

"Hm. Well, make sure you finish that uh, paperwork before you leave," he said gruffly. "And then get out of here and have a Merry Christmas."

"Yes, sir. Will do. Merry Christmas."

He left and Lisbon frowned a little as he disappeared back toward the direction of his office. He was never one to push her to get her reports done, especially before a holiday; she always completed them in a timely fashion. And why was he still there, anyway? She was sure his wife, Mae would be waiting for him.

_Weird_.

She put her face in her hands, sighed, and flipped on the radio to a Christmas music station. According to Bruce Springsteen, Santa Claus was coming to town.

Picking up her pen, Lisbon got back to work, humming along absently to the music.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

In the lobby of the CBI building, with its skeleton crew of mostly single people with nowhere to go for the holidays, there was a bit of a flurry when Santa Claus appeared at security. Three of his elves flashed their Secret Service badges, and had no trouble passing through security. But the youngest elf had no ID on her, and neither did Santa.

"Santa doesn't need a driver's license," Jane joked, his face still covered by his fake beard, his fur trimmed hat pulled low over his forehead.

The CBI security guard wasn't amused. "You need an ID to pass through security, sir."

"Just call Minelli, will you?" said Jim impatiently to the guard. "He knows we're coming."

The guard frowned, but picked up the phone. Obviously, if the Secret Service was here, this particular Santa must be a very important visitor.

The guard was surprised Minelli hadn't left yet. He described the unusual visitors, briefly wondering if Minelli would think he'd been in the eggnog.

"Let 'em through, George," said the boss nonchalantly.

The guard shook his head and waved them on through security.

Jane passed through the metal detector like everyone else, grinning behind his beard as Charlotte followed with no incident.

"What floor is Serious Crimes on?" Jane asked George on his way to the elevator.

"Three," said George.

"Thank you, George," called Santa Jane. "Merry Christmas!"

George watched them get on the elevator, his eyes narrowed. There was something familiar about that Santa Claus, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He chalked it up to the wackiness of California in general.

Santa and his four elves huddled closely in the small elevator, Jane's heart tripping along excitedly in his chest.

He would be seeing Lisbon in a matter of seconds. And boy, would she be surprised. He grinned down at Charlotte, his eyes twinkling.

"This is pretty lame, Dad," she said.

"You don't think it's romantic?"

"It's kinda weird, even for you."

But inside, Charlotte was secretly thrilled to see her father so excited to see a woman, and impressed that he had gone to such lengths to do it. She prayed quietly that Agent Lisbon wouldn't break his heart, would understand the romantic sentiment behind his off-the-wall actions.

Minnelli was waiting in the elevator landing on the third floor. He was smiling politely, and solemnly shook hands with the president.

"She still here?" asked Jane a tad anxiously.

"Yes, in her office. I stalled her as long as I could."

When Minnelli was introduced to Charlotte, his smile grew more genuine.

"You're quite the good sport to go along with your dad on this."

Charlotte grinned. "I don't mind. It's fun to see the kids so excited to see us. They'd have no idea who my dad was—but they all know and love Santa Claus." She lowered her voice to a stage whisper. "I think that's what he likes about it the most. That and giving presents. He _loves_ giving presents."

"I'm sure he does," replied Minnelli. "He's certainly gifted the world with a fine young lady."

"Thank you, sir. Merry Christmas." And she presented him with a candy cane.

Minnelli laughed and accepted the gift. Then he turned once more to Jane, his smile fading somewhat.

"Mr. President, I know you must be pressed for time, but may I have a private word?"

Santa's elves met his eyes askance, and Jane nodded. "Of course, Agent Minnelli."

Jane already knew what the older man had in mind, and he tried not to smile at the thought of the fatherly talk he was about to endure. Minnelli drew him a short distance from his posse. Jane pulled his beard down out of respect, his own face going serious, though he couldn't hide the amused glint in his eyes.

"Sir, we appreciate how you're honoring us with your presence and all, but well—Teresa doesn't have a father to do this, so I just have to ask—what are your intentions toward her?"

Jane's lips quirked imperceptibly, but he respected the man's position, was actually deeply moved that Lisbon had someone looking out for her best interests like this.

"I know I've only known her a few days, but I like Teresa. Very much. She's one hell of a woman. The last thing I want to do is hurt her or make her uncomfortable—playing Santa notwithstanding," he said with a small smile. "This seems like an impossible situation, but I'd like to give it a try, if she does."

"She's not one to bask in the spotlight, and she'd hate me for telling you this, but she doesn't go out much. She's married to her work. It will take a hell of a _man_—playing Santa notwithstanding—to deserve her."

"I'll try to be that man," said Jane sincerely, sticking out his hand.

Minnelli stared into Jane's eyes a moment, assessing his authenticity. He must have been satisfied with what he saw, for he took Jane's hand and shook it firmly.

"Good," he said, then, still grasping his hand, lowered his voice to a dangerous level. "And just so you know, a hundred Secret Service agents won't be able to stop me if you do her wrong. Arrest me now for threatening a president, but there it is."

Jane couldn't help his smile then. "Understood, sir. And you'd be well within your rights."

Minnelli relaxed and returned his smile. "Now, I'd give a million bucks to see her reaction when you show up, but I suggest for your own safety, that you go it alone."

"You're probably right. Thank you, sir. I'm glad we had this talk."

Minnelli nodded; pleased they understood each other.

Jane pulled up his beard, adjusted his hat at a more rakish angle. "Wish me luck," he said to his elves.

"Are you sure, sir?" asked Jim.

"Quite sure. She's already going to be embarrassed enough without an audience." He looked at Charlotte. "Cane me."

She reached into her shoulder bag and slapped a candy cane into his hand. "Go get her, Santa."

"Down the hall and to the right," Minnelli told him helpfully.

"Thanks."

And with a deep breath and a jingling of bells, Santa Jane continued the last leg of his long winter's journey.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

At first Lisbon thought the Christmas bells she heard were from the radio, but she looked up in confusion when they seemed to be coming closer. Her eyes widened when she saw none other than Saint Nick himself at her open glass door.

_What the hell…?_

She stood with a grin, wondering who had been roped into dressing up in this get up. He was too short to be Rigsby; too tall to be Cho…

"Ho, ho, ho!" said Santa Claus. "Merry Christmas!"

Lisbon walked around her desk to greet her Christmas Eve visitor.

"Well, hello, Santa. Shouldn't you be somewhere over the North Pole by now?"

"I thought I'd start with California this year," he said in his deep, Santa voice.

Her eyes roamed up the man's costume, from his shiny black boots to his jolly stuffed belly, upward to the ermine trimmed red coat and his curling white beard. This was no street corner Santa. This costume looked really authentic. Her eyes moved on up to his lips, barely perceptible within the thick beard, though she had the impression he was smiling at her. Then she met a pair of familiar, mischievous, blue-green eyes and she gasped aloud, one hand going to her mouth.

"Jane?"

"You mean that guy in the big white house in Washington?" he said, still in character. "He's been very naughty lately. Nothing but coal in _his_ stocking."

She moved hesitantly closer, trying hard to believe her own eyes.

"Oh, my God! I can't believe it's you!"

"It's Christmas Eve, young lady. You didn't expect to see Santa this year?" His eyes narrowed. "Have you been a bad girl?"

She shook her head at him, laughing now in exasperation.

"You've lost your ever-loving mind," she said, but then she threw herself into his arms, both of them laughing as she tried to hug him over his oversized stomach.

"What are you doing here?" she whispered, her head resting on his soft coat.

"I missed you," Jane said simply, in his own voice now.

Lisbon looked up at him, and with eyes sparkling with wonder, she reached up and pulled down his beard, revealing the warm smile of the president.

"I'm really hoping you missed me too."

Her passionate kiss was her answer.

**A/N: Fluffy fluff, I know. But I love Christmas, and I'm a hopeless romantic. Combine these two things in a Jisbon fanfic, and this is the result. Thanks for reading. I have to go back to work soon, but I'll write as often as I can. Happy New Year everyone!**


	7. Letting Go

A/N: Thanks so much for all your great reviews! Sorry for the lateness of this chapter, but school has started and it's harder to find the time to write. I hope you enjoy more belated holiday fluff.

**Chapter 7 : Letting Go**

A Santa suit, Jane found, was not very conducive to a passionate embrace. Still, he had no trouble ravishing Lisbon's mouth, which he did at his leisure, trying his best to get her closer despite his overstuffed belly. He was amazed at his own happiness at just kissing her, how she made him feel more powerful as a man than he'd felt even on Inauguration Day.

A few minutes too soon for Jane, she pulled away, breathless.

"I'm pretty sure Santa Claus doesn't even kiss Mrs. Claus like that," she said, holding tightly to his downy soft coat sleeves for support.

"Aw, Agent Lisbon, one never knows what really goes on in a couple's private moments. I'm sure Santa is quite the lover, considering what a giving kind of guy he is."

She smiled at the absurdity of their conversation. They looked at each other intently a moment, each beaming stupidly at the other.

"I should be very mad at you," she said, stepping out of his arms for her own self-preservation. "You aren't exactly respecting my wishes by coming here."

He raised a blond eyebrow. "Now you're lying, Teresa. A woman doesn't kiss a man like that who hasn't been wishing to see him again."

She frowned, though she couldn't deny it. "But your coming here doesn't solve our problems, does it? You're still the president—"

"Yes, I am. What do you have against US presidents anyway? You know, I don't like to brag, but some might say my job makes me quite the catch." He tugged on his fake beard for emphasis.

She shook her head at him, flabbergasted at his ability to overlook the major obstacles to a lasting relationship.

"I know how wonderful you are," she told him honestly. "And I'm honored that you have shown an interest in me, but—"

"An _interest_?" he repeated, frowning. He pulled her closely again and brought his mouth down on hers once more, kissing her so thoroughly she felt dizzy and disoriented. He pulled back to look at her, happy with how suitably dazed she appeared.

" I flew all the way across the country to see you, Teresa, and I'm only here for a couple of days. We can either waste it arguing, or take full advantage of the time we have together." He smiled his best vote-garnering smile. "Besides, it's Christmas. Let's do our own personal part to have peace on Earth, shall we?"

"But—"

He laid a gloved finger over her lips. "No buts. Grab your stuff and let's get the hell out of her. We'll have ourselves a little Christmas Eve adventure. Later, you can sit on my lap and tell me what you _really_ want for Christmas." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, which seemed so incongruous with his costume that she had to laugh and blush at the same time.

"All right," she conceded. "But only because it's Christmas."

"That's a good girl. Now, if you're riding along with Santa, you're going to need this—" from out of thin air he placed a plastic wrapped candy cane in her hand—"and this—"while she focused briefly on the candy, he suddenly set a green and red elf's hat on top of her head.

She pushed it up so it wouldn't be in her eyes, looking up at him crossly. "You're kidding me."

"Not at all," he said with a grin, reaching out to adjust its fit upon her wavy hair. "All the most beautiful ladies are wearing them this year. There. Perfect. You look ready to spread all kinds of Christmas cheer."

Which was of course an ironic observation, given her frown of annoyance.

He planted a kiss on her scrunched up nose, his beard tickling her face. "Come on, Teresa, tempus fugit!"

With a heavy sigh (made only for dramatic effect), she went back to her desk and removed her bag from a bottom drawer, then took his proffered hand.

She was pleasantly surprised to see Charlotte waiting near the elevator landing, wearing an entire elf's costume. She glanced at Jane and shook her head in amusement.

"Agent Lisbon!" exclaimed the teenager in delight, trotting up to her in her ridiculous curling-toed slippers. "You're coming with us?"

Lisbon laughed. "It's very hard to say no to Santa Claus," she told her.

"Tell me about it. Try living with him twenty-four-seven."

She tried to avoid Jane's eyes. "I can only imagine."

And then Lisbon's eyes widened as she beheld Minnelli, and she knew her cheeks were flushing pink.

"Sir, I'll come in tomorrow and finish that report—"

"You most certainly will not. It can wait until the New Year. Have fun. One rarely has the opportunity to spend Christmas Eve with Saint Nicholas himself."

She grinned. "Thank you, sir. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Lisbon. Mr. President. Miss Jane."

His blue eyes sparkling, Minnelli strode down the hall leading back to his office, whistling his own rendition of "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus."

At a nod from Jane, Jim pressed the down button on the elevator.

"So," said Jane, rubbing his gloved hands together in anticipation. "What kind of trouble shall we get into next?"

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"I'm starving."

They'd just pulled away in the limo from the CBI when Charlotte looked pleadingly at her father.

"Hmm," said Jane. "Now that's a quandary. Teresa, where is the best place to get a burger?"

She didn't hesitate. "Charlie's, just down the road."

"Do they have a drive-through?" Jane asked, thinking of the logistics of eating with a fake beard, which he would have to wear unless he wanted everyone to know that not just Santa Claus was in town.

"Even better," she replied, shifting a little next to Santa's exaggerated girth. "It's an old fashioned drive-_in_. With trays that fit on the window and everything."

Jane laughed. "Well, by all means we must go to Charlie's, then."

The limo stuck out by two lengths in the drive-in slot, and Jim, the limo driver, placed their five orders, ranging from cheeseburgers to onion rings, thick milkshakes all around. Soon the posh vehicle was filled with the odor of fast food, and they ate where they sat, another agent, Daniel vigilantly keeping watch through the tinted windows while they shoved fries into their mouths. Beside them, their follow car, a black Suburban SUV with its two additional agents, sipped their milkshakes and scanned the area around the restaurant.

Charlotte was absently munching on her burger while looking at her smart phone.

"Hey, Dad, there's an outdoor ice skating rink here!" she announced excitedly.

"No," said Jane immediately. "No way."

Lisbon laughed. "You don't skate?"

"Roller skating, I can handle. Surfing is a breeze. Ice skating? I may as well just slide around the whole rink on my ass to save time."

She chuckled. "Well, I think we've discovered one more thing you're not good at," she said, and he caught her eye, their thoughts returning to their first night together.

"I told you I wasn't perfect."

But as she looked at him, she couldn't think of one thing about him that wasn't perfection. Her adoration must have been clearly written on her face, for his smile faltered, and his eyes took on a predatory glow.

"Does that mean we can't go skating?" asked Charlotte, ignoring the mating rituals of the old people.

He blinked and tore himself away from looking at Lisbon to address his daughter. "Charlotte, honey, no way I'm getting out on the ice in a Santa suit. I'd draw less attention as myself."

"Well, you could take some of your stomach padding and put it on your butt," she said, laughing.

"My little comedienne," said Jane, swatting Charlotte with his Santa hat. But his eyes were laughing. "Do you skate?" he asked Lisbon.

"I grew up in Chicago," she said. "Hockey was a way of life when I was a kid."

"Agent Lisbon knows how," Charlotte reasoned. "She could come with me."

Jane sighed, then called over the glass partition to the front seat. "You skate, Daniel?"

"Yes, sir, Mr. President."

"How about you, Jim?"

"Yes, sir, Mr. President, but it's been awhile."

"I guess we are going ice skating," Jane relented. "But I'm taking off this damn costume."

"You'd better leave on the beard and hat, sir," suggested Jim.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

No one recognized Charlotte in her elf costume, and fortunately Lisbon's brief brush with fame hadn't lasted long enough for anyone to take notice of her. The ladies tied on their skates and ventured onto the ice, along with their elfin Secret Service escorts. No one batted an eye—it was California, after all. It was a mild fifty degrees with no wind, and the lights of downtown Sacramento competed with the Christmas lights strewn around the temporary outdoor rink. White lights sparkling in the trees lent the scene a fairytale atmosphere.

In blue jeans, a white t-shirt and light jacket, Jane walked awkwardly on his bladed skates across the carpeted staging area, hesitating before he stepped onto the ice. He still wore his Santa beard and hat, and his top elf, Jim, followed protectively behind to lend a hand should he falter.

"You don't have to do this, sir," Jim whispered. "As a matter of fact, I'd feel much more comfortable if you didn't."

"I'm sure the only thing that will get hurt is my pride. Besides, I've faced down Vladamir Putin—this ice has nothing on him."

Jim shook his head. "Whatever you say, sir."

By then, Charlotte and Lisbon had made it full circle and were passing before him, both of them skating smoothly and easily.

"Hurry up, slowpoke," called Charlotte.

Jane waved her on in annoyance, and he could hear her tinkling laughter as she sped off. Lisbon slowed a little and skated to the opening where Jane stood. She stopped at the railing and held out her hand.

"Come on. I'll help you find your sea legs."

He grinned sheepishly and took her hand, then, with a deep breath, stepped out into the abyss.

He wobbled on shaky ankles, his free hand going to the railing.

"The things one does to impress a girl," he said with a grin, though the effect was lost beneath his snowy beard.

She laughed. "Oh, I'm thoroughly impressed already," she dryly assured him. "But I'm sure you're giving poor Jim and the others a heart attack."

Jim trailed behind them, dividing his attention between Jane and the flood of skating strangers around them. His earpiece connected him to the others of his team, interspersed throughout the rink. It was probably a security nightmare for all the agents, Jane thought in agreement. He'd have to put a little something extra in their Christmas stockings.

"All right," said Jane. "I'm going to let go of the railing, but you have to hold on tightly to me so I don't make a fool of myself right out of the gate."

She moved in closer, linking one of his arms with hers. "I got you," she said softly, looking into his beautiful eyes. "Trust me."

And he did.

They made slow and arduous progress around the oval-shaped rink, but Charlotte applauded and called words of encouragement every time she skated past. It was incredible, Lisbon thought, skating so close to him, breathing in his sensuous cologne, feeling the warmth of his body as he held on to her for dear life. She never dreamed she'd even see him again, let alone get the chance to touch him like this. He had her laughing with his funny and dry commentary, and it would have been one of the most romantic moments in her life had it not been for the absurdity of his fake Santa beard. A few small children even giggled to see Santa Claus so shaky on the ice.

"Isn't there lots of ice in the North Pole?" asked one little girl in passing, skating with much more skill than Jane as she held onto her daddy's hand.

"Of course," Jane said, deepening his voice in reply. "But I always travel by sleigh. I never have time to go ice skating."

The little girl's big brown eyes grew round as saucers. "Are you going to have time to come to my house tonight?"

"That depends. Have you been a good girl?"

The girl's father smirked and shook his head slightly.

"Well, most of the time," she answered sheepishly.

"I'll tell you what. You promise to be good _all _of the time and I'll give you a break and come tonight. Deal?"

"Deal."

When the little family skated past, it took all of Lisbon's willpower not to pull down that damn beard and kiss him passionately. He was so wonderful with children, even those who weren't his own.

"If you showed Putin this side of you, he'd be putty in your hands," Lisbon whispered.

"I would," quipped Jane, "but he's been a very bad boy lately."

Their third time around the rink without incident, he seemed to have found a more confident stride.

"Much as I love being glued to your side, I want to try going it alone for a minute," he said.

Lisbon looked skeptical. "You sure?"

He chuckled. "No. But I'll never be able to hold my head up in a Santa suit again if I don't at least try."

"All right…but take it slow."

She unlinked their arms and took his hand, then slowly moved away from him, still holding hands while their arms stretched between them.

"I'm letting go," he called, and she released him.

At first, everything seemed like it was going to be fine. Jane stayed upright, his ankles barely wobbling as he attempted to pick up a little speed. His long beard fluttered in the gentle breeze, his red hat bobbing comically with each tentative stride. Lisbon smiled in amusement, teasing and encouraging him as he skated steadily along.

From out of nowhere darted a speeding skater, coming up from behind them at Olympic velocity. He was headed right for Jane.

"Sir!" hollered Jim, several yards behind. Too late, Jane turned just in time to be clipped in the right arm, the force of the hit sending him spinning, then falling on his back, his head hitting the ice, hard.

"Smiley's down! Smiley's down!" Jim cried the president's code name into his mouthpiece. Daniel had seen what happened and was chasing after the offending skater, moving like a magic bullet around the glut of patrons. Lisbon rushed to Jane's side, squatting along with Jim, who was pulling aside the president's beard to better check his condition. A small crowd had gathered around the fallen man, who it would seem, was out cold. Then, one woman gasped and pointed.

"It's the president!" she exclaimed in shocked realization.

Twenty cell phones instantly came out.

Charlotte and the other two agents rushed over, the agents demanding that the skaters stay back.

"Jane," Lisbon said, patting his cool cheeks firmly. "Wake up."

Jim tenderly felt beneath the president's head, and more gasps followed when they saw the blood on his hands. He removed a white cotton handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it to Jane's head.

"Daddy!" cried Charlotte, kneeling beside him and taking his hand in hers.

Lisbon's heart was pounding, but her emergency training kicked in, and she took his pulse, then opened his eyelids to check his pupil dilation. They seemed to take over the sea green of the iris.

Concussion for sure, she thought.

Distantly, she heard the witnesses talking, rehashing the accident, making various comments on the parties involved.

"_Oh, God, I hope he'll be all right."_

"_That's his daughter, Charlotte, isn't it?"  
>"Do you think this was really an accident?"<em>

"_He's even hotter in person."_

"_Isn't that the CBI lady he was seeing?"_

In the distance, they could already hear the sounds of sirens.

Daniel returned with the reckless skater, handcuffing him and taking him toward the exit. In this age of terrorism, the Secret Service didn't take any chances. The manager of the skating rink came rushing across the ice, sliding a bit in his boots.

"You need to evacuate and close down the rink," Jim instructed. "This is a matter of National Security."

The man looked into the familiar face of the president and blanched in surprise. "Of course." He turned to the crowd."Okay, everyone off the ice please," he yelled. "The rink is closed!" He spoke to Jim again in low tones. "I'll go make an announcement on the intercom. Can I do anything else?"

"Make sure the way is clear for the ambulance."

"I'm on it."

"Is he going to be all right?" asked Charlotte with tears in her eyes. Lisbon tried to forget her own fear. If something should happen…this would be the second parent Charlotte lost. Lisbon knew well how that felt.

"I hope so," she told the girl, not wanting to lay on the platitudes. "He just seems like he's unconscious from the fall. I'm sure they'll do some heavy duty x-rays, give him the best care in the world."

Charlotte reached for Lisbon's hand. "Please stay with me," she whispered.

"Of course," she said, swallowing over the lump in her throat.

The ambulance arrived and Jane still hadn't regained consciousness. Two paramedics got the surprise of their lives when they realized they'd been called to aid the President of the United States, but they were extremely professional, securing his head before lifting him onto a gurney. Charlotte insisted on riding to the hospital with her father, and no one said anything when Lisbon followed, since the anxious girl wouldn't let go of her hand. They had a police escort, and Jim rode in the front seat beside the driver.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane's first thought was that his head hurt like hell. His second was of Charlotte, and a fuzzy memory of her calling him _Daddy._ She only called him that when she wanted something, or when she was terrified.

"Charlotte," he said, though it only came out in a hoarse whisper that hurt his dry throat.

"Mr. President?" asked a voice that sounded tinny, as from an old radio. "Are you awake in there?"

He forced his eyes open, and felt a brief moment of panic when he realized he was encased in what he first thought was a coffin.

"You're in a CAT scan machine," said the voice again soothingly. "You had an accident and we're checking you out. Do you remember anything, sir?"

"Yes," Jane managed. "I remember being an idiot on the ice rink."

"But nothing about the accident?"

"No, though I assume I fell and hit my head. Where's my daughter?"

"She's fine, sir. She's waiting outside."

"What's wrong with me?"

"We'll know for sure after the CAT scan, but the fact you are awake and talking to us is a very good sign. Now Mr. President, please stay still and this will be over in a moment."

"You guys don't work for Congress, do you?" he joked, and the medical team on the other side of the glass window chuckled good-naturedly.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"It's a grade three concussion, Mr. President, and you'll have quite the headache for a few days. You'll have to take it easy, and you may experience some memory loss from the events surrounding the accident. But you have no internal bleeding, and the wound on your head is just a small cut. Not even worth stitching up, though you'll have a nasty, painful bump for awhile."

"Thanks, Doc. Now when can I get the hell out of here? Nothing personal."

The doctor laughed. "Of course not, sir. I think we should keep you overnight for observation, then you should be safe to travel, so long as you get some rest."

"Over night?"

He wanted to whine that it was Christmas Eve, but he didn't think that would sound too presidential.

"Yes, sir. And your chief of staff and the vice-president concurred."

"Aw, she just wants my job," Jane said wryly.

"He's kidding," Lisbon felt the need to say as she entered the private hospital room with Charlotte.

"Naturally. Well, let us know if there is anything you need, Mr. President. Everything we have is at your disposal."

"Thanks," Jane said, hoping he didn't sound too ungrateful. He hated hospitals.

When the doctor left, Charlotte's composure broke, and she practically ran to his side, climbing upon the bed to hug him and kiss him on the cheek. He cringed as the bed jostled and pain shot into his head, but he managed to hug her back with both arms. It had been just the two of them for so long, that he understood immediately what Charlotte must have felt, seeing him unconscious and bleeding on the ice.

"I'm okay," he whispered into her blonde hair. She'd changed out of her elf costume, but a bit of glittery makeup still accented her shining eyes. She smelled like peppermint and Juicy Couture, and he thanked the universe for being allowed once more to feel her small body clinging to his.

Over her shoulder, he met Lisbon's eyes. _Hi, _he mouthed to her, and gave her a grin.

_Hi._

His stomach did a little flip at her dimpled smile and soft green eyes, and he wished he had the strength to rise out of this bed and kiss her smiling lips.

_Sorry._

She shook her head at him, obviously meaning there was nothing for him to be sorry about.

"They said you don't remember the accident," Charlotte was saying.

"Not a thing. I remember letting go of Agent Lisbon's hand…but everything's a blank after that."

Charlotte took her smart phone from her back pocket and sat up on the side of his bed. She brought up a YouTube video and pressed the play arrow. There was shaky video of skaters, then the cameraman focused on a little boy skating near Jane and Lisbon. From out of nowhere, the speed skater barreled through. Jim's voice could be heard calling a warning, then Jane made a comical spin and fell, dizzy to the ice. It still didn't jar Jane's memory, but his cringed in embarrassment at the unceremonial way he'd fallen. Not presidential at all.

The cell phone camera had caught everything, including the chaos that followed.

"You've gone viral," Charlotte commented almost gleefully. "Look, there's about three other videos that show your crash from different angles. They're calling you President Wipeout."

"Great," said Jane wryly. "I'm sure Walter is apoplectic."

Charlotte chuckled. "You are _so _gonna get it He's already been calling Jim constantly for updates."

"They caught the skater," Lisbon added. "Scared the poor kid half to death, when your Secret Service agent cuffed him, but he turned out to be clean. Just a dumb kid wanting to be the next Apolo Ohno."

"Well, I'm glad it wasn't an assassination attempt," said Jane. "Walter would be _really_ pissed off then."

"Hm," said Lisbon, smiling at his dry humor.

"Hey, sweetheart," he said to Charlotte. "Could you get me some water? My mouth feels like Death Valley."

She glanced from her father to Lisbon. "You could just tell me you want to be alone with Teresa," Charlotte said. "I'm not a kid, you know."

Jane rolled his eyes.

"Okay, young _lady_, get out of here for about ten minutes so I can kiss Agent Lisbon senseless. Can you do that for me?"

Charlotte gave a mischievous smile that exactly matched her father's. "That's all you had to say." She kissed his cheek again and hopped off the bed, being sure to close the hospital room door behind her with a quiet click.

Lisbon moved to Jane's bedside and took his hand. He looked so pale against the white cotton pillowcase. She hadn't expected to be so frightened when she saw him go down, hadn't expected the wave of emotions that had overtaken her when he hadn't awakened right away.

"Thank you for staying with Charlotte," Jane said, his face becoming serious.

She nodded. "I was glad your agents let me. But then, they would have had to physically pry her hand out of mine."

Jane felt his eyes go misty. It had to be post-traumatic stress or something. He squeezed her hand. "Well, I'm grateful."

"Remind me to never allow you on the ice again," she told him, trying to lighten the mood.

"You don't have to worry about that. Have you seen the video? President Ford had nothing on me. The late-night talk shows are going to have a field day with this one. So, has the rest of the world gone to hell? Women and children screaming? Fire falling from the sky? A gnashing of teeth?"

She grinned. "No gnashing, from what I've seen on the waiting room TV, but there have been serious discussions about the lax security, and whether or not you and I have a love nest here in California paid for with the taxpayers' dollars."

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely. "That's exactly what I wanted to avoid with my clever disguise."

Oddly enough, seeing the video of herself rushing to his side on the ice rink had only made her relive her fear, not make her question her the wisdom of a relationship with him.

"I'm okay. I've quickly discovered that hanging out with you is equal parts pleasure and pain."

He frowned at this, surprised at how much that assertion hurt, mainly because he suspected she wasn't completely kidding.

"_Equal _parts?" he asked tentatively, looking appealingly into her eyes. She'd never seen him appear so vulnerable, so lacking in confidence. She was surprised that she had this power over his emotions. But she couldn't lie to him; if she tried to have a relationship with him, it wasn't going to be easy.

"Eighty-twenty?" she offered, attempting to cheer him.

His face became much sunnier. "I guess I can work on that. But be warned; I'm well-known for my negotiation skills."

"I've heard," she said. "And nice move, by the way, getting a concussion to try to win me over."

"I hope now you can see how serious I am."

She smiled. "I can," she said.

She leaned down closer to him, her wavy curtain of hair falling forward around him. He reached up to tuck some of it behind her right ear.

"Now, where's that senseless kissing you promised me," she asked, meeting his amazing eyes.

"On the contrary," he whispered, "kissing you makes all the sense in the world."

And so he pulled her lips to his.

**A/N: More as soon as I can manage it, I promise. I've also taken on a new collaboration with the lovely Hayseed Socrates, entitled "Precious Days." It's a future fic—set about 30 **_**years **_**in the future. It's a lighthearted look at Jane and Lisbon as senior citizens. I hope you'll give it a chance. It's posted under her name. **

**Thanks for reading!**


	8. You Can't Fight Fate

A/N: I wish I had the time to reply personally to all of your reviews, but right now, it's either use any free time to write, or use that time to respond. Hopefully I've chosen what you the readers would want, but I want you to know that I read and appreciate and am inspired by every last one. Thanks so much!

**Chapter 8: You Can't Fight Fate**

Lisbon and Charlotte shared a hospital room next to Jane's, though the Secret Service agents had suggested they would be more comfortable in a hotel room. The president's daughter adamantly refused, so Charlotte's things were brought from Air Force One, and the hospital gave Lisbon a toothbrush and soap. Neither of them had wanted to leave Jane, even though he was out of danger.

When he awoke to the smell of antiseptic and the distant odor of hospital cafeteria food, Jane sighed and turned his face to the bleak light shining through the blinds. Christmas morning in the hospital wasn't exactly the way he had planned to spend it. He had hoped to awaken with Lisbon in a nice big bed somewhere, then, after a visit to his troops at Travis Air Force Base, he'd wanted to spend the day with Lisbon and Charlotte. He thought of Lisbon's gift, a long, thin parcel at the bottom of his suitcase.

He didn't know what she'd think of it. If she'd even consider accepting it. Maybe it was too soon in their relationship. Maybe she didn't think it was worth all the hell she would have to go through to be his girlfriend.

_Girlfriend?_

Jane felt his color heighten. The word made him feel like a teenager, but then, that's exactly the way she made him feel.

His door creaked open a crack, and Charlotte peaked inside.

"Dad?" she whispered.

He turned his head back toward the door with a grin.

"Merry Christmas, sweetheart," he said. She smiled in return and came to his bed to kiss him.

Her eyes narrowed as she searched his face with concern. "How are you feeling?"

"Just a headache. I'm sorry I spoiled everyone's night."

"I blame myself. I knew you sucked at ice skating."

"I didn't have to go, you know."

"Yeah, you just wanted to impress Teresa. I get it."

He couldn't deny it, so they both just grinned.

"I heard the doctor say you could leave the hospital today," she told him.

"Oh, nothing would have stopped me from that. Not even Walter. The minute I get my walking papers, we're out of here."

Charlotte's smile turned suddenly mysterious. "You can't leave yet. Not until you see the present I brought you."

"Aw," said Jane. "The mysterious present you've been swindling the Vice President her hard-earned money to buy."

"Yes! Now wait here," she said. And Jane rolled his eyes.

Lisbon passed Charlotte on the way out of his room, and Jane's eyes softened at the sight of her.

"Good morning," she said quietly, moving to stand by his bed. "You look much better today. Some color back in your cheeks."

"Thank you. I _am_ feeling much better. Anxious to get out of here." His heart gave a little thump, and his voice lowered seductively. "I missed not being with you last night. This bed seemed very small and…lonely."

"Jane." Her blush said she had felt the same way. He pulled on her hand.

"Come here. I know there's no mistletoe, but I'd love a Christmas kiss."

"Just a quick one," she cautioned, "Charlotte will be back—"

She lost her breath along with her train of thought as he pulled her down halfway on top of him, finding her lips and passionately prying them open with his tongue. She inhaled sharply, then relaxed against him, one hand resting on his chest to feel the excited pounding beneath his hospital gown.

"Ahem," came a deep, masculine voice from the doorway.

Lisbon struggled awkwardly to stand upright, while Jane's eyes flew to the door in annoyance. But then he saw who had interrupted, his face blossomed into a welcome smile. "Pete!"

The big man ambled over to the bed, his giant paws coming out to rest on Jane's shoulders affectionately.

"You don't look too worse for wear," he said gravely, though his eyes were bright with amusement. "But that doesn't mean I'm gonna kiss ya," he said, winking at Lisbon.

"I imagine your pride's hurting a little more than your head," said another familiar voice. Pete's wife, Samantha. Her husband had blocked her tiny frame from sight.

"And Sam? What the hell are you two doing here?" he asked in delight.

Samantha joined her husband and bent to kiss Jane's cheek. "How ya doin', Mr. President?"

Jane grinned. "You can call me _Your Highness_."

Sam smacked him playfully on the arm. "In your dreams, Boy Wonder."

Charlotte strolled in now, a smug smile on her face as she beheld the reaction to her gift.

"Merry Christmas, Dad!"

His eyes widened in realization. "_They_ are your gift?"

"Yes! Surprised?"

"Well… yeah. Pleasantly so. What gives, kid?"

"I wanted to have family with us for Christmas, so I've been saving my allowance and babysitting money to pay for their plane tickets. Uncle Walter helped me arrange everything. And even though you spoiled it all by this crazy last-minute trip to California, turns out, they were only an hour's drive away."

The pair weren't exactly family, but the closest they had since Angela's death. Charlotte knew her father sometimes got lonely, and she'd wanted to cheer him at Christmas time with people who really knew him, and not the presidential persona everyone saw on TV. Sam and Pete still traveled with the carnival, but were on winter layover at Stoney Ridge, a carnival camping area. She hadn't been able to find her Uncle Danny, but last time her dad had seen him, they hadn't exactly been on the best of terms, so maybe it was just as well.

"Charlotte," Jane said, trying his best not to tear up. "This is…amazing. Thank you, sweetheart." He held out a hand to her and she took it, then bent to kiss his cheek.

"I got you pretty good, didn't I?" she whispered.

He chuckled. "I'll get you back, kid, you just wait."

"Apple don't fall too far from the tree in the Jane family," commented Pete in admiration. He put his giant arm around the diminutive girl, squeezing her to his side.

"I guess not," said Jane proudly. His eyes flickered over to Lisbon. "Oh, I'm sorry. Have you met Teresa?"

Lisbon nodded. "Yes, in the hall."

"As if your becoming the king of America wasn't enough," said Sam, "you had to go and start dating a cop. Oh, how the mighty hath fallen," she teased.

"Not so far that I forgot where I came from," said Jane, looking at his old friends affectionately. He was so proud of his daughter's thoughtfulness. It was truly one of the best presents he'd ever received. "I'm really glad you both are here. And we'll get those airline tickets changed so you can fly out and slum with me in the White House soon."

"Sam here wouldn't miss it," said Pete. "She was secretly hoping she'd get to stay in the Lincoln Bedroom."

"You're not afraid of ghosts?" Jane asked slyly.

"Patrick Jane, you know damn well I don't believe in that superstitious crap. My mother did the old gypsy voodoo routine, not me, remember?"

"Yes," said Jane fondly, "she taught me everything I knew about showmanship."

Lisbon was looking from Jane to his friends in surprise. "You mean…all that lore about you traveling with the carnival—that was really true?"

"Damn right it was true," said Pete. "What, did you think it was made up to make him look more…mysterious?" He waggled his bushy eyebrows.

Lisbon shrugged. "I don't know what I thought. Sometimes this stuff gets…exaggerated for the sake of an election. You know, George Washington and the cherry tree. Lincoln and the log cabin…"

"After my mother passed," said Sam, "Patrick and his dad started his Boy Wonder act. He knew all and saw all, or so said the signs. He was pretty convincing. I sometimes wondered if he really was gifted with the second sight, like Mama was."

"Nonsense," said Jane.

"Well, I've watched you on the news, Paddy," said Pete. "You work those world leaders like they're showbiz marks. They agree to all your terms before they even know what hit 'em. They say later that they were totally won over by your _charm_. Ha. We know better, though, don't we?"

"Keep that down, will ya?" said Jane, glancing toward the door. "You know what happens if they catch a glimpse behind the curtain."

They all chuckled.

They spoke a while longer about old times, until Jane's doctor shone a penlight into his eyes and told him he could be released.

"I wouldn't advise any more adventures on the ice anytime soon, Mr. President."

"Don't worry, Doc. I'm cured of that particular disease." He looked over at Lisbon and grinned.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They stayed in the penthouse suite of the Citizen Hotel, with beautiful downtown views of Sacramento. The press was camped out downstairs, and the police informed them that Lisbon's apartment was similarly surrounded. Jane insisted she stay with them. The entire floor was cleared save their rooms, and Jane paid for the relocation of the displaced patrons out of his own pocket.

It was Christmas, after all.

A private dining room was made available, and all of them, including Jim and Daniel of the Secret Service, would have a traditional Christmas dinner later that night, magically arranged on short notice, apparently by Mashburn and his secretary, long distance.

Jane had spoken to his Chief of Staff that morning. It hadn't been pretty. After a briefing on affairs of state and the world, Mashburn took things to a more personal level.

"Patrick, you're killing me here. The pundits on the news channels are going nuts with this mess. Dammit, they think you've gone off the deep end. You need to get it together with this girl and get the hell back to DC where you belong. First, however, visit those soldiers and try to find some way to recover politically from this fiasco."

"I know, I know. Everything would have gone perfectly if not for my mishap on the ice. Nobody recognized me, Walter. _Nobody_. It was incredible. I felt so free…"

"Yeah, yeah, I can imagine. Well, on the bright side, we're gaining support from social media. Word got out you visited the hospital as Santa without a film crew, and women age eighteen to eighty think it's so romantic you went all the way to California to surprise Agent Lisbon at Christmas."

"All true."

"That's the way we need to spin it then. I expect you back here tomorrow. Tonight would be even better."

"I need one more night with her, Walter," he said simply, though his tone was heavy with meaning.

Walter sighed. "Like I can stop you. But after your sneaking out to her hotel last weekend, then your disastrous turn as Dorothy Hamill, we need to have a serious talk about your security—"

"I've never done anything like this before, Walter. She's worth it. She's worth it all."

Jane could imagine him back in his office at DC (though he should have been here with him in California, visiting his parents) running a frustrated hand through his dark hair. "Fine. I'll see you tomorrow. And for the love of God, keep your ass out of trouble, at least until I'm around to fix things."

Jane grinned. "Scout's honor."

"Bullshit if _you_ were ever a Boy Scout—"

"Good-bye Walter."

He ended the conversation with a push of a button, then he looked up to see Lisbon, who had come from Charlotte's adjoining room. He swallowed. How long had she been standing there?"

"I'm worth all this pain and trouble, am I?" she asked, walking toward him into the sitting area with the magnificent view of the Capitol building.

He was sitting in a leather, high-backed arm chair, his head resting gingerly against the smooth leather. He was tired, and his head still pounded, but he knew what the right answer was.

"Yes," he told her. "It was all worth it. Just to see you smile at me again. Just to kiss you."

He patted his legs invitingly, his smile very naughty. "Now, come sit on Santa's knee and tell me what you want for Christmas."

She looked skeptically at him, given his sudden change of mood, and she had a feeling he was trying not to scare her away with talk of serious things. She complied with his request, though she wasn't ready to end the conversation. Her bottom settled onto his lap and she wrapped an arm around his shoulders. He kissed her immediately, passionately, and she became lost in him for countless minutes, as she felt his desire for her growing beneath her.

"We need to talk," she said, turning her head to escape his incredible mouth. He merely kissed her neck instead, his hot breath making her shiver.

"No," he said. "No more talking. Just for a little while."

His hands cupped her breasts, feeling her pebbled nipples with his thumbs.

"We can't, Jane. Charlotte is in the next room. She's getting ready to go to the Air Force Base…"

"You're going too, right?" He kissed just above the _v_ of her work blouse, her cleavage smelling clean: Ivory soap from the hospital.

She shook her head. "No. This should be the two of you. I think I've had my fair share of the spotlight for the time being."

He raised his head to look at her, the faint freckles on her nose and cheeks more charmingly prominent without her usual makeup.

"I'm going to try to sneak over to the Rigsby's, maybe borrow some things from Grace to wear since I don't want to go back to my apartment. All the stores are closed today, in case you hadn't realized. They were expecting me for dinner, anyway."

He nodded. "As you wish, of course. Just take one of my agents with you for security please." Then a thought occurred to him. "You're coming back, aren't you?"

She wanted to say no, to stick to her guns about this situation being too impossible, too hard on her emotionally. She'd always striven to be that strong woman who didn't allow a man to influence her logical decision-making.

"Yes," she said, instead.

His answering smile was completely worth it, she thought illogically. For the first time since she could remember, she chose not to be that strong woman at all.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The Rigsbys inundated her with questions the moment she arrived at their house in the unmarked sedan, emerging cautiously from the back seat. She'd hidden beneath a blanket to insure her escape from the parking garage of the hotel, and was hopeful they hadn't been followed. She didn't want the Rigsbys to be caught up in her whirlwind of craziness and lack of privacy. The driver would stay in the driveway until she was ready to return to the hotel.

"I've tried not to watch the news today," she told them, sitting on their couch and inhaling the delicious aroma of roasting turkey. She had apologized profusely for having to miss dinner, but they understood that a presidential invitation trumped a Rigsby turkey dinner. Cho was there too, with his mother, who seemed a bit star struck by Lisbon's presence. Well, _someone_ had obviously been watching the TV.

"Probably a good thing," said Cho.

"Oh, hush," said Van Pelt. "I think it's incredibly sweet and romantic. Like a fairy tale. Like _Pretty Woman._"

Rigsby sniffed. "Yeah, if you like people watching your every move, paparazzi staking out your house."

"Which I don't," agreed Lisbon.

"But he's the president," said Van Pelt dreamily.

Lisbon couldn't help but smile. "Yes. There's that."

"Are you going to marry him?" asked Mrs. Cho, suddenly finding her voice.

"Ma," said Cho, embarrassed, though you couldn't tell it by his face.

Lisbon blushed. "I think it's a little too soon to talk about marriage, ma'am."

The old woman looked meaningfully at her handsome, single son. "It's never too soon to talk about marriage, though sometimes it becomes too late."

Cho shook his head imperceptibly, and Rigsby tried not to laugh.

They asked Lisbon all about the president, what he was like, what his daughter was like. She answered in the politest terms possible, but as she rose to return to the hotel, Van Pelt asked her to join her in the kitchen.

"Boss, I don't mean to pry, but…I can tell you really like this man."

Lisbon thought about cutting her off, telling her it was none of her business, but she found suddenly she needed someone to talk to about all this. Grace seemed to be the only woman she was remotely close to.

"I do like him," Lisbon admitted. "But it's just an impossible situation."

"Difficult, maybe, but not impossible. And he won't be president forever; you'll be able to have a more normal life with him in a few years, if that's what you want."

"I don't know," she said, her eyes downcast.

"Well, you have to decide if he's worth waiting for, worth putting up with all the media crap that you'll have to—"

"Worth giving up my job?" Lisbon asked softly. "I honestly don't know. Everything is happening so fast."

"Well then take your time. What's the hurry?"

"It's not me, it's _him_. _He's_…pursuing _me_, and I don't know how to put him off."

Van Pelt chuckled. "You really _don't_ want to put him off though, do you?"

Lisbon sighed, then smiled sheepishly. "No, I suppose not." Then suddenly, Lisbon was tired of being coy, and the truth of how she felt began flowing from her lips as from a wellspring. "Oh, God, Grace, he is so wonderful, so beautiful, so perfect. He is everything I could ever hope to find in a man. I don't want to let him go."

Van Pelt smiled gently at her boss, touched beyond measure that this woman she admired so much would confide in her. She reached out a hand and touched the smaller woman's arm.

"Then don't," said Grace. "It really is as simple as that. The other stuff isn't important. Sure, it will be inconvenient and annoying, but I know from personal experience that it's painful and stupid to fight fate. I gave up on Rigsby for a time, and you know how lousy my rebound guys turned out to be, how much I put Wayne and I through for no good reason—mainly because I was choosing my job over him. Don't make the same mistake I did, Boss. Don't waste time that you will later regret."

Impulsively, Van Pelt enveloped Lisbon in a warm hug, and, much to her surprise, her boss hugged her tightly back.

"Thank you," Lisbon whispered.

Van Pelt closed her eyes and patted her boss's slim back. "Thank me later, when you're the First Lady."

Lisbon laughed, and it felt good. "Let's not get too far ahead of ourselves."

"You can't fight fate," said Van Pelt wisely, but she was smiling as she said it.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It had been a long day, and Jane was tired. His head ached, but it was worth the success of the visit to the soldiers, and the dinner he had with his friends and family. Lisbon had sat beside him, and he felt the rightness of it clear to his soul. Occasionally, his hand would rest on her knee beneath the table, but she didn't slap him away, or move her leg. Instead, she would smile at him in such a way that he felt his heart squeeze with emotion.

Sam and Pete had left for home, despite the lure of a luxury hotel suite. Their old silver Airstream was good enough for them, Pete had proclaimed. They promised to visit him in Washington before carnival season started again.

Charlotte took her new computer tablet and her small pile of gift cards to her room for some online shopping, leaving Jane and Lisbon alone. Well, there were still Jim and Daniel, who escorted them back to the top floor in the elevator. They took their places discreetly near the Marines that were guarding the president's penthouse door.

"Good night, sir, ma'am," the agents told them.

"Good night boys," Jane replied, and entered his suite behind a blushing Lisbon.

"You need to sit down and rest," Lisbon told him. "You're looking pale again."

"I will, believe me. First, however, there's the matter of your Christmas present."

"No, please. I wasn't expecting you, wasn't expecting any of this. I don't have a gift for you."

"I don't need anything from you but your company. That's gift enough for me."

She shook her head. "I hope you didn't get me anything too extravagant."

"Don't worry," he said, bending to kiss her lips. "As much as I wanted to cover you with diamonds and emeralds, I didn't. Not this time, anyway. Besides, I knew you would refuse anything that expensive."

Jane went to the suite's walk-in closet, saw that his suitcase had been unpacked for him, the manila envelope he'd been searching for placed neatly on a shelf atop his folded underwear.

He grinned and retrieved it, but his pulse was racing in anticipation.

_Would she accept this?_

He emerged from the closet and walked over to where she was sitting on his bed.

He put the envelope in her hand with a flourish, settling beside her atop the thick down comforter.

"For you," he said.

She looked at the envelope, then into his eyes in confusion.

"What's this?"

"Well, only one way to find out, isn't there? Open it."

She turned the envelope over, opened the metal brad that sealed it, and pulled out a small sheaf of papers.

It was an application to Quantico, the FBI training facility forty miles away from DC.

"Come and play in _my_ backyard, Agent Lisbon," he said softly.

**A/N: So what should poor Lisbon do, eh? Thanks for reading. More soon!**


	9. DNA

A/N: Thanks for those who read and reviewed the last chapter. You are all so kind! This chapter picks up immediately after the last, and the first part is M-rated, so please be advised. Enjoy!

**Chapter 9: DNA**

Lisbon looked down at the application in her hand, her heart doing a little flip within her breast. She looked up at the president, bleary eyed.

"You want me to become an FBI agent," she stated.

"Yes."

She set the papers gently on the bed between them and rose, turning her back to him. For a long time, she stood there, staring out the window at the Capitol building which glowed beautifully against the night sky. She stood there so long, still as a statue, that Jane began to fidget uncharacteristically, tapping his foot upon the thick Berber carpet. But he didn't want to interrupt her thought processes, so he said nothing.

Usually he could tell what a person was thinking just by their body language, by the tiny tells in their expression. It occurred to him that she understood this skill he had, which was why she was wisely keeping her back to him. If he hadn't been so nervous, he might have smiled.

He swiped a hand though his hair and waited.

At the five-minute mark, she turned, her expression carefully blank.

He watched in some surprise as she began unbuttoning her borrowed blouse, a green silk that must have looked fetching on its owner, the redhead, Van Pelt, but was simply stunning on Lisbon, matching her eyes and complimenting her Irish complexion. It took him a moment to process the fact that she was undressing. _For him_.

"Teresa," he said, finally, as she slipped the rich fabric off her shoulders. She let it fall to the floor before her hands went to her own grey slacks.

She stepped out of her shoes, then dropped her pants to the floor. She stood before him in her white cotton bra and a pair of nude bikini panties, obviously new, but a little too big for her through the hips.

"I always loved hand-me-downs," said Jane, more than willing to put aside the big picture to enjoy what she was offering him…for now.

"Van Pelt was very helpful."

"Come here," said Jane. He was a man used to giving orders. She walked over to stand before him at his place on the bed. His warm hands came up to nearly encircle her slim waist, and he looked up at her with a heated gaze.

"You're so beautiful," he told her.

She blushed, and he watched in fascination as the mottled color spread from her lovely cheeks to her gently sloping chest.

"Thank you," she managed. She reached up to brush an errant curl from his forehead. "As are you," she said honestly.

Grinning, he pulled her to him until he could kiss the valley between her breasts, and her hands came up to delve into his hair, reveling in its amazing softness. But she didn't want this to go exactly the way it had between them the first time, back in Washington. She put her hands on his, removing them from her hips before she dropped to the floor before him, her knees sinking into the thick carpet.

"Here are my terms," she said, her eyes solemn as she looked up into his, though her pulse pounded in her throat. Her hands went to his belt, unfastening it as she spoke. He raised an eyebrow, but was silent, letting her speak.

"If I should got to Quantico—and as yet that's a big _if—_you will not interfere in my training or my job placement in any way."

He felt her small hand at the placket covering his zipper, felt himself growing harder when he realized she was just moments away from touching him.

He nodded. "Okay." But he would have promised her Fort Knox just to feel those beautiful hands caressing him.

She lowered his zipper, and his mouth went dry.

"Secondly," she said, slipping her hand inside his trousers to cup the fullness she discovered there. He inhaled sharply, and she found the fly of his boxers.

"You will appoint Agent Cho to replace me as head of your crime task force in California."

Despite his quickening breath, Jane's brain kicked in again. Implementation of his crime bill was still incredibly important to him.

"Is he qualified?"

She gripped his erection. "Incredibly," she assured him, her hand sliding up and down his increasing length. He looked down to watch what she was doing, then closed his eyes as a shudder of desire rippled through his body. He didn't see her smile at her own power.

"Okay," he managed, in answer to her demand. "Anything…ahh…else?"

"Hmmm," she said, thinking.

Lisbon released him for a moment, but only to push his back onto the bed. He fell heavily, seeming now to have no control of his limbs, not even caring about the brief, sharp pain as his sore head hit the mattress. She removed his shoes, then stood to find the waistband of his pants and boxers, sliding the former down as he instinctively lifted his hips to accommodate her. His erection sprang free, firm and ready for her. She joined him on the bed, taking him in hand once more. She leaned over him, swiping a tongue over his velvety tip experimentally.

"Sweet Jesus," he muttered, then clenched his teeth.

"One more thing," she said, working her hands around him.

"Anything you want," he replied. "Nuclear launch codes? Secrets of Area 51? Who _really_ killed JFK?"

She chuckled. "Maybe later. Right now, I just want your promise not to take any more security risks, especially when it comes to me."

He opened his eyes to look at her. "If I don't have to sneak around to see you, there will be no need."

She nodded, seeing his sincerity amidst the passion.

"Okay," she said. "I'll think about it."

Before he could say another word, she took him into her mouth, and neither of them did much thinking for a very long while.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Later, snuggled beneath the covers, limbs and bodies intertwined, Jane grinned.

"I'm rethinking the whole Quantico thing," he said.

"What?"

"Maybe you should become my Secretary of State. I have never beheld such a shrewd negotiator."

"Yeah. Well, you, Mr. President, aren't the _only _one used to getting what you want. And on that note, just because you're the President of the United States, doesn't mean you're the boss of me."

"Well, technically—"

She looked at him with narrowed eyes. "You know what I mean."

He smiled, kissing her pursed lips. "Yes, I do. I want an equal relationship. I don't want you kowtowing to me, especially in the bedroom."

"You sure about that?" she asked, lips quirking.

"Okay, but only on special occasions. Christmas being one of them." He remembered how she'd catered to his every fantasy, not minutes before.

"Your birthday?"

"Absolutely."

"How about President's Day?" she suggested mischievously. He suddenly rolled on top of her, pressing her lithe body into the soft mattress. He kissed her swollen lips.

"Aw, my dear, when you come to my house, _every_ day is President's Day."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next morning, they showered together in the large tiled bathroom, but cleanliness didn't seem their number one priority as they brought each other to ecstasy once more, while water and soap ran unheeded down their bodies.

It was more difficult to say goodbye this time, but Jane had to get back to DC, breaking news of a terrorist attack in Europe needing his immediate attention. Lisbon refused to be a distraction, so she would be staying in Sacramento. She was hoping to join him eventually, but it wouldn't be nearly as soon as he had hoped.

"I want to get into the FBI program on my own merits," she warned him as he slipped on his suit coat. "No phone calls from you to the Director, promise?"

She straightened his somber blue tie, her hands lingering on his buttoned vest.

His lips tightened stubbornly.

"Jane."

He sighed. "Fine. But you realize this might take months."

She nodded, hating the tears she felt gathering in her eyes. "Yes. But for me, it is the right way, or not at all. Besides, I never want there to be any question about your abusing your power to get me preferential treatment."

"There will be questions anyway," he reasoned.

"But this way, no one can prove anything, because there will be nothing to prove."

He gathered her close, bent his head to kiss her tenderly. "But you'll come and visit me in the meantime?"

"Yes. I'll take vacation time in a month or two."

"A _month_?" He frowned.

"Hey, there are phones and texting and even Skype…"

"Skype?"

She smiled indulgently. "Charlotte will teach you."

"This is going to be very difficult," he said, his fingers caressing her cheeks. "I'm going to miss you like hell."

"Me too," she whispered, and his mouth took hers desperately, both of them trying to memorize this feeling, this taste.

"Dad," came Charlotte's distant voice, after a startling knock on the adjoining door.

They broke apart, Lisbon smoothing down her hair and wiping impatiently at an errant tear. Lisbon wondered how obvious it had been that she hadn't spent the night in her own room down the hall.

"Come in, sweetheart," he called, and Charlotte's lovely face appeared.

"Jimmy says the plane is ready. Are you guys?"

"No," he said honestly. "But I suppose I've got no choice."

Charlotte looked from her dad to Lisbon, noting how sad they both appeared that they were leaving. Impulsively, Charlotte went to Lisbon, hugging the woman who had been there with her when her father had been hurt.

"I'm so glad you were here," she said. "Despite Dad's klutziness, I had a lot of fun."

"Hey!" protested Jane.

Lisbon laughed. "I had fun, too."

They parted, and Charlotte smiled. "I'll get my stuff. Jimmy said you're supposed to make a statement about the bombing before we get on the plane, Dad."

Jane sighed. "Yeah. I'll be right there." He'd been on the phone with Mashburn and various heads of state for the last hour. The press was waiting for him to say something public.

"One of my guys will get you home, or to the Rigbsy's—wherever you need to go," he told Lisbon when they were alone.

"Thank you, I'm sure I'll be fine. Now, go," she said, gifting her with her dimples. "Save the world."

He smiled. "I'll see you soon."

"Is that Boy Wonder talking?" she teased.

He closed his eyes and put two fingers on each temple, seemingly deeply in touch with the great unknown.

"Signs point to…yes," he responded, as if in a trance.

She laughed. "So your secret was a Magic 8 Ball, was it?"

He opened his eyes and grinned. "Shh…don't give away the secret to all my foreign policy decisions."

"Hmm," she said, her hands going up to rest on his shoulders. "That explains a lot."

His final kiss was sweet and filled with longing, and there settled in each of their hearts a sharp pain of dread for the lonely days to come.

Jimmy knocked politely, and Jane was immediately on the move, the Marines and Secret Service agents whisking him and Charlotte away like the expert team they were. She watched them go down the hall to the elevator, watched Jane turn and wave to her, his smile wide and blindingly beautiful before his guards crowded around him and she lost sight of him completely.

"Bye, Teresa!" Charlotte called, before the elevator slid closed.

"Bye," she said to the empty hallway.

Another black-suited agent appeared at the door of the suite, and they caught the next elevator to the garage.

And that was how Teresa Lisbon spent her Christmas.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Later, on Air Force One, Jane had a few moments when he wasn't on the phone. All hell had broken loose, and there was talk of military strikes or even putting boots on the ground. In the brief lull, Charlotte came to sit beside him.

"Is everything okay?" she asked, her fine brows knit in concern.

He took her hand and squeezed. "It will be," he said. "Don't be afraid."

"Oh, I'm not worried about you handling the terrorists; I'm worried about how you're going to get along without Teresa."

Jane managed a wry smile. "That's a good question. You like her then?"

"Yes, very much. You should have seen how she took control when you hit your head. She's even calmer than you in an emergency. I could tell she was really concerned about you."

"She was?" he asked, almost shyly.

"Yes. What's more, I think you are falling for her…_hard_."

His smile faded, but he couldn't deny it. "What do you think about that? I know you said you like her, but it's one thing to like a person; another to have her date your father."

"I told you I was cool with it. She makes you happy, Dad. And in case you're wondering, I'm totally okay that she spent the night last night."

"Charlotte."

"Don't be embarrassed. I'm almost eighteen. I know that even old people have sex, as disgusting as that image is."

"I'm going to pretend you didn't say that."

She smirked, but then a flash of gold caught the light from the airplane window. She touched the narrow band that she'd never, in all her life, seen off of his finger.

"You should probably take that off now, don't you think?"

He looked down, his thoughts drifting back to the day Angela had put the ring on his finger, that day at sunset, when they'd stood barefoot before a minister on a Malibu beach. He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat.

"I don't want to dishonor your mother's memory."

She smiled gently at her father, so handsome, so wonderful. The best man she knew. The best man in the world. But like most adults, Charlotte thought, he could be incredibly stupid sometimes.

"I think you dishonor Mom more by wearing this ring when you're obviously falling in love with someone else."

"Charlotte."

"Dad," she replied, a challenge.

He met her eyes, green eyes so similar to his, especially when they were being equally stubborn.

"Teresa seems like a patient person," she said after a moment's staring contest. "But maybe she'd be more likely to stay with you if you weren't literally wearing a constant reminder of your dead wife. Personally, I wouldn't want to date a guy wearing someone else's ring. I don't think you'd want that for me either, would you?"

Jane felt stricken by her insight. He shook his head in wonder.

"How'd you get so smart?"

"Probably from Mom."

He grinned and draped his arm across her shoulder, pulling her to his side and kissing her soundly on top of her head.

"I didn't say smart _ass_. That, you got from me."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_**Three weeks later…**_

With a recommendation from Minnelli and a waiver of the age requirement due to her already being a state agent, Lisbon was able to jump to the head of the line in the FBI application process. She'd been interviewed by bureau agents in Sacramento, twice, had undergone an even more rigorous background check, even though she was obviously clear through her employment with the CBI. With her recent presidential commendation after the Red John arrest, along with her exemplary service at the state level, the FBI agents she spoke to seemed excited to have her onboard, assuring her the wait to be officially accepted and to begin her training was just a formality.

In the meantime, she spoke to the president every day by phone, but then she also received funny or sexy texts at all hours.

There had been one amusing attempt to Skype with him, but he quickly gave up in frustration, even though it had been wonderful to see each other's faces on their computer screens.

"I could have you linked up through teleconference in the Situation Room," he'd said on the phone afterwards. "Then I could see you on _ten _screens at once."

She'd laughed. "I really don't want to use official White House equipment for our personal conversations."

She knew how he was, how sometimes he forgot the time difference between them and woke her with a phone call in the middle of the night, his sensual voice in her ear leading to a round of heavy breathing on both ends of the line. She never would have believed in a million years she'd be having phone sex with the President of the United States, and in the light of day, it still made her blush.

The three weeks they'd been apart had seemed like an eternity, but they were both busy people, and Lisbon was grateful for the CBI cases to occupy the long days, and even some of the nights.

One afternoon, while Lisbon was busy with the endless stack of paperwork that came with the closing of a case, Cho knocked on her office door and entered with a familiar file. The younger agent had been honored to receive the president's invitation to head the task force in California, despite his being the second choice, and he'd been to Washington DC a couple of times to speak to the president personally, as well as a newly formed advisory team. Once the funding for the program came through, Cho would be more than ready to assume the position, at the same time working for the CBI.

"Come in," said Lisbon with a welcoming smile. It was then she noticed the name on the file: Thomas McAllister, the man they'd arrested for Red John.

"We got some more results back from the DNA lab."

After his arrest, McAllister's DNA had been submitted into the system to cross check against other unsolved cases. As with most state-run projects, it had been a slow and arduous process. It had been difficult to use DNA to pin the murders on him, as none of Red John's victims had been discovered with the killer's DNA. Red John had been meticulous in keeping his victims clean, and so far, no crimes had been linked to McAllister's DNA.

At least, that was what they'd thought.

Cho handed the folder to Lisbon. "You need to see this."

She opened the file to see a usual report , half of which was filled with scientific mumbo jumbo she didn't understand. She skimmed down to the bottom of the document to the summary results.

Her eyes widened at what she saw, and she swallowed hard, then looked up at Cho, her heart racing.

"Are they sure about this?"

"Definitively," said Cho. "I called them myself. The results have been triple checked."

"And it's the same person?"

"Yeah."

"Dear God," Lisbon said under her breath. Then a thought occurred to her: "Does Minnelli know?"

"Yes," he replied, "But no one else outside the lab. He said he thought you should be the one to handle this."

She shook her head, her eyes going back to the results. "I don't believe it."

"Pretty heavy," Cho concurred.

"Thanks, Cho," she said.

He nodded and left her to fully absorb the news.

Red John hadn't been known to have raped any of his victims, though there was evidence of his sexual deviancy in the way the women had been stripped bare, in the way they'd been positioned in death.

In a rare, impulsive moment, however, Red John _had_ raped someone.

On a beach in Malibu about ten years before.

"Oh, Patrick," she whispered.

With blurred vision, she pulled up a travel reservation website.

She could leave for DC that night.

**A/N: Well, folks, one more chapter to go. Thanks for hanging in there. **


	10. Rocky Road and Epilogue

A/N: Well, here it is, the final chapter. I hope you enjoy how I wrap things up. The tone does go a little angsty for a bit, but I had planned that particular scene from the beginning. Thanks again for all the support and kind words regarding this story. I really appreciate you!

**Chapter 10: Rocky Road**

"Mr. President," said his secretary the moment Jane arrived back at the White House. He'd been to a party fundraiser, and all he wanted to do was kiss Charlotte goodnight and call Teresa. He hung his overcoat up on the hook just outside the Executive Residence. "You have a visitor waiting, sir, in your private sitting room. Mr. Mashburn approved her admittance."

Jane frowned. "Who is it, Brenda?"

The woman lowered her voice. "It's Agent Lisbon, sir."

Jane's eyes widened, then his smile stretched from ear-to-ear in delight, and he practically trotted down the wide hall. Before he could fling the door open to the sitting room, Mashburn stepped out. He must have been entertaining their guest.

Mashburn wasn't smiling, and Jane suddenly realized that Lisbon's visit might not be all that he had hoped.

"What's going on, Walter? Is Teresa okay?"

"Yes. But she is obviously here for more than just a social call, though I couldn't get it out of her; she insisted she needed to talk to you personally. She looks pretty serious, so prepare yourself."

Jane felt his face go white, all kinds of break-up scenarios flitting through his head.

Mashburn glanced at the closed door. "I'll give you two some privacy," he said gravely.

"Thanks, Walter."

His friend nodded. "If you need to talk later, you know where I'll be."

Jane patted Mashburn on the upper arm in passing, and after a quick knock on the sitting room door, Jane pushed it open. The moment he saw Lisbon, he forgot Mashburn's dire warning and crossed the room in a few long strides.

"Teresa," he said hoarsely.

She'd barely had time to stand before he took her into his arms, squeezing her tightly and trying to absorb the heady sensations of everything at once—the softness of her woman's body, the scent of her hair, the sound of her excited breathing over the pounding of his heart.

He found her mouth and ravaged it passionately, somewhat desperately. It had been almost a month since he'd been able to do this, and he had a lot of time to make up for.

Lisbon allowed herself to kiss him back without restraint, trying to forget for a moment the gravity of her visit. He released her mouth but hugged her body to his.

"I missed you," he whispered into her hair.

"I missed you too."

He held her hands and they both sat on the leather couch where they'd played video games with Charlotte a month before.

"As happy as I am to see you," he said, meeting her solemn eyes, "I have the distinct impression this isn't just a surprise booty call." He smiled a little at his own teasing, and she did too in spite of her extreme trepidation.

This was going to be even more difficult than she'd thought, Lisbon realized. He was so obviously delighted to see her, but she wondered how he'd feel after her news.

"Yes, I'm afraid it's a bit more than that," she told him. Her brow furrowed, and she looked down at their joined hands, a hard lump in her throat.

"Bad news is best just spitted out, like spoiled milk."

His smile had dimmed, and he patiently waited for her to speak. The thrumming of his pulse gave him a heady, jittery feeling, like he'd mistakenly drunk a cup of strong coffee.

"It's about your wife," she said, bravely meeting his eyes.

She felt the tension in his hands, actually saw it tightening his jaw and shoulders.

"Go on," he said carefully, without any betraying emotion.

"The CBI has identified her killer." She slowly let out the breath she'd been holding.

His hands gave hers an involuntary, painful squeeze, before he released them and stood.

"Who is it?" he ground out. She noticed he'd clenched his hands into fists at his sides.

"Red John."

His eyes became saucers. He cocked his head. Had he heard her right?

"Red John," he repeated dully.

"Yes. Since his capture, we've been slowly cross-referencing his DNA to unsolved murders in California. Angela's was a match."

"Rape has-has never been his MO. And there was no bloody smile." His voice was strained, barely recognizable.

"I know. But the results were double checked. His DNA was a definite match to the evidence we found on her body." She reached for the large shoulder bag at her feet and withdrew the file. Wordlessly, she offered it to him. He looked at it, but didn't take it. Instead, he turned from her, and after a moment, to her horror, she saw his back start to tremble with emotion.

She tossed the report on the coffee table and went to him immediately, walking around to stand before him. His face was contorted into a silent mask of pain.

Without a second thought, she held him.

She felt his body shake for exactly one minute, felt the warm wetness of a teardrop upon her neck. He gripped her tightly, his breath convulsing in one deep sob that tore at her heart just as brutally as Red John's knife.

And then, just as abruptly as it had begun, his outburst came to an end, and he stepped away from her, reaching into his suit coat for a monogrammed handkerchief.

He dabbed at his eyes, wiped his nose, and put the linen cloth away again. He gave a brief sniff, then took a deep breath, releasing it slowly.

"I'm sorry," he said. His usual confident timbre had returned, and he was the president once more.

"There's no need to be." She took his hand again, led him back to the couch. He slumped tiredly against the seat back, still holding her hand.

"Who else knows about this?" he asked, tenting his other hand over his closed eyelids.

"Minnelli and Cho. The lab only knows its subjects by number, so there shouldn't be a leak there. Minnelli thought I should inform you first, before we give the results to the DA's office."

He opened his eyes, understanding the weight of what she and her team had done. They were trying to save him from the public spectacle of having his wife's murder splashed all over the tabloids as well as every news outlet in the country, and yes, even the world. He thought of Charlotte. What would it serve to have her know additional horrible details of her mother's murder? Then again, Jane had nearly gone crazy with the knowledge that her killer was still out there, perhaps killing others, perhaps waiting for a moment to kill him or Charlotte too.

But now Lisbon was telling him not only the identity of Angela's murderer, but also that the man was already in custody awaiting trial. Angela's name would be added to the list of murder counts pending against him. If Red John were convicted, he would be paying for her death in the most public way possible.

"I want to see him," said Jane suddenly, turning his head to look at her.

"The DA?"

"No. The murdering bastard who killed my wife."

She was startled by his demand, and the implications and ramifications of such a request began to swirl in her mind. She understood why he wanted this. Red John had killed some of the CBI's best agents while they pursued his case. Lisbon had spoken to the serial killer herself after his arrest, had demanded, off the record, that Thomas McAllister look her in the eyes and admit to what he'd done. It had been a cathartic experience, facing the man who had haunted her worst nightmares. Without lawyers or recording devices, Red John had gladly described in detail what he had done to her friends, had relived the pleasure the killings had given him.

She had wished she'd brought her weapon with her into the interrogation room, and in the heat of her interview would have gladly gone to prison herself for murdering the psychopath; the man had a sinister way of messing with your head. But Cho had held out his hand for her Glock before she'd gone in the small room with Red John. Her colleague's foresight had probably saved her career.

"I don't think that's a good idea," she said to Jane now, remembering how shaken she had been by the experience.

"Maybe not. But I need to know why."

She shook her head. "Knowing why won't bring you any comfort, Patrick. Trust me on this."

"That remains to be seen."

She knew then he would not be dissuaded, and besides, he was the president; he could do whatever the hell he wanted.

She squeezed his hand. "Okay. I'll do whatever I can to help you. But how will you explain why the president is speaking to a suspected serial killer?"

His mouth formed a humorless smile. "I'm the tough-on-crime president, remember? This is just…research."

They both knew if the press found out there would be more questions than he could avoid. So he would do his best to avoid the press.

"My visit must be on the stealthy side," Jane continued. "Too bad my Santa suit's still at the cleaners."

She didn't laugh at his half-hearted joke, but she tenderly kissed his cheek, then laid her head tiredly on his shoulder.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Charlotte was delighted Lisbon had flown all this way to see her father, who had been moping around lately like he'd lost his puppy. But the girl sensed there was something heavy going on between them, something that warranted the serious light in his eyes, despite his trying to shield her with his usual smile.

"What's going on?" Charlotte asked suspiciously, after hugging Agent Lisbon in welcome. They had come together to her bedroom to bid her good-night.

"I have to make a trip to California first thing tomorrow morning," he told her.

"What for?"

"It has to do with the uh, task force."

"You're lying," Charlotte said evenly. "Dad, I'm nearly eighteen. I can handle whatever you can."

Jane glanced at Lisbon, who shrugged her slim shoulders. It was obviously up to him what he chose to impart to his daughter.

"And since you are almost an adult, you'll understand that sometimes we have to have patience. I'll fill you in as soon as I can."

She frowned, not liking this answer at all. She tried her luck with Lisbon. "Is everything all right between you two?"

Lisbon's smile was genuine. "Of course. This has nothing to do with anything personal, I promise you."

"Yes," Jane agreed, taking Lisbon's hand. "Teresa and I are very happy to see each other, no matter the circumstances."

Charlotte watch the loving looks the pair exchanged, and she relaxed somewhat.

"Good news. Because I was about to hit you upside the head if you'd done something to screw this up, Dad."

Her father chuckled. "And had that been the case, I would surely have deserved it. But no," he said, glancing once more at Lisbon. "I don't think I've screwed anything up yet."

Lisbon smiled. "No, not yet," she agreed dryly.

Jane hugged his daughter, bidding her an early goodnight.

"I should only be gone a day or two. Walter is going to kill me with the schedule changes, but I'm afraid this is something that can't wait."

"Well, whatever it is, I expect a full report when you get back," she ordered.

He kissed the top of her head.

"Yes, ma'am," he whispered, and his heart squeezed at the thought of keeping that promise.

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

He made love to Lisbon in his own bed, careless now of what anyone might think. He knew she must feel his desperation, must feel the need to reconnect with her in the most fundamental way possible. She let him take her completely, seeming to know instinctively that he needed to selfishly find his pleasure, to drive into her body almost roughly, mindlessly. It didn't stop her from coming undone beneath him, however, her tremors of ecstasy triggering his own.

Afterwards, they lay on their backs on the soft sheets, the perspiration cooling on their skin, bare chests rising and falling in rhythm with the pounding of their hearts.

She felt rather than saw his intention to apologize. She covered his lips with her fingers.

"Don't," she whispered in the darkness. "I'm here for you, whatever you need."

She felt his lips purse lovingly on her fingers, and she caught her breath in surprise when he brought them inside his mouth, felt the rasp of his tongue against the sensitive flesh, felt the renewed stirring in her blood at the surprising sensuality of his action. He released her fingers with another kiss on their tips.

"I'm falling in love with you, you know," he said, his voice sounding almost amused by the admission. "I know it's a hell of a time to tell you this. It's probably too soon, and maybe even incredibly inappropriate, given the circumstances, but I have learned the hard way that you never know if you'll have another chance with the people you love."

Her stomach clenched, her heart skipped a beat.

"And I have no idea what tomorrow will bring," he finished, lacing her damp fingers with his.

When she remained silent, Jane smiled. "You don't have to say anything. I just wanted you to know the truth of how I feel."

She wanted to say something, she really did, but the lump in her throat prevented her, as did the metal band she could feel every time his left hand held hers.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They left for California the next morning, Jane, Lisbon, an insistent Mashburn, and a Secret Service contingent. It was still dark outside, and since no one was expecting the president to leave at such an ungodly hour, there was no press corps waiting, and Jane didn't invite any of them to join them on Air Force One. Minnelli had made arrangements for Thomas McAllister to be transported to the CBI headquarters in Sacramento, with the hope that it would be easier for the president to visit there than where the accused had been held in the Sacramento County Jail awaiting trial.

Without explanation, Minnelli had cleared the entire building, save Lisbon's team, and the heavily armed state police escorted the shackled accused serial killer into a CBI interrogation room. They didn't remove McAllister's restraints, and the police bound his legs to the heavy wooden chair.

On the other side of the one-way glass, Cho, Lisbon, and Minnelli crowded in to watch the proceedings, the president and Mashburn joining them. Outside, Jim and two other Secret Service agents stood beside the state police. The president would be quite well protected.

Jane appeared visibly shaken at his first look at Red John in person, and Lisbon's hand moved to rest on his arm.

"You don't have to do this," she whispered.

"When's my lawyer getting here?" McAllister suddenly asked, seeming to look directly at them through the opaque glass.

"This isn't a legal proceeding," said Minnelli through the intercom. "We have someone who would like to speak to you on a personal matter."

McAllister grinned. "Someone want my autograph? I get a lot of that lately."

"Sit tight, Mr. McAllister," replied Minnelli. He looked over at Jane.

"Mr. President, I understand your desire to do this, but I really wish you would at least have one of my people in there with you."

Jane continued to stare inside at his wife's murderer. "Jim will be in there; I'm sure it'll be safe enough."

"Patrick," said Mashburn. "I have to concur with Agent Minnelli. This is a really stupid idea. You open yourself up to all kinds of lawsuits, public ridicule-if it gets out you were here talking to this man without his attorney present."

"No one outside this building will ever know," replied Jane confidently. "There will be no proof he even left the county jail, isn't that right, Agent Cho?"

"Yes, sir," Cho replied.

"See?" said Jane. He took a deep breath. "Now, let me get this over with."

He met Lisbon's eyes. "Be careful," she said, and Jane knew she wasn't just cautioning him about his personal safety.

"I will."

The state policemen outside the interrogation room door were completely astonished to see the President of the United States emerge from the observation area, though Jane had to hand it to their professionalism at hiding it so quickly. Jane nodded to them, then waited with pounding heart as the officer opened the door for him.

"No matter what happens, don't let anyone in here," he said softly to Daniel and the other men who would stand guard.

"Yes, sir."

Jim preceded Jane inside.

When the door closed behind him, the rest of the world fell away, and Jane's entire focus was on the deceptively ordinary looking man chained to a chair. Jim stepped back into the shadows of the room to watch unobtrusively.

"Well, Mr. President," said McAllister, pleasantly surprised. "I wondered when this day might come. I'd stand, but…" he looked down at his restraints and shrugged apologetically.

It was confirmation enough for Jane: this was indeed the man who had killed his wife.

There came upon him now a sudden calmness. His heart rate slowed, and he pulled out a chair opposite Red John. He sat down without saying a word. He stared into the man's eyes for a full minute, gauging him, his old skills at a cold-read coming back to him. McAllister did not flinch, and actually seemed amused at Jane's evaluation.

"I suppose you've come here for some answers," said the killer. "I don't blame you, really. While I personally enjoy a good mystery, after ten years even I would get a bit…annoyed."

"I would just like to know why," said Jane finally, pleased his voice sounded strong. "Why my wife?"

Red John sat back in his chair, his expression becoming nostalgic. "Now that's a funny story, actually. You see, I had originally come to Malibu to see _you_."

"Me?"

"Yes, sir, Mr. President. Of course, you weren't the president back then. No, far from it. I'd seen your ad when you were engaged in your former profession. You'd built up quite the reputation around the area, as a gifted psychic and hypnotist. Many claimed you were so accurate in your predictions that you had to be the real deal. As one dabbling in the art of mind control and manipulation, I had to check you out for myself. I had this elaborate plan to test your mettle; then, if you were as good as people said, I thought perhaps we could find a way to work together."

McAllister's smile was genuine, and Jane stiffened in his chair as he tried to push away the beginning effects of shock.

"Before all that, however," McAllister continued, "I decided to observe you going about your daily business, see how you operated. It was quite by chance that I noticed your beautiful wife. Angela was sure an early riser, wasn't she? I know this because I watched her every morning for a week. She'd go out onto your back deck overlooking the ocean, carrying her morning coffee. She would only wear a light robe, if I recall. Yes…I remember this because I could see the outline of her lovely naked body against the morning sunlight. I admit I became instantly obsessed. She was a beautiful woman, your wife."

Inside the observation room, Lisbon cringed, her eyes on Jane's pale face.

"Get him out of there," said Mashburn beside her in agitation.

"No," she said. "Wait."

"So you stalked her," Jane was saying.

McAllister laughed softly. "In a manner of speaking. But I also enjoyed talking to her."

Jane's eyes widened. "You _met_ her?"

"Yes. I _happened_ to bump into her at the Farmer's Market. We had quite the discussion about delicata squash. I have to say, you picked a winner there, Mr. President. Smart, funny, beautiful. And such a good mother. It was too bad you didn't fully appreciate her."

Something in Jane snapped. He stood up from his chair so quickly it toppled over, and he shot around the table, his hands lunging toward the restrained man's throat.

"You fuckin' bastard," Jane said through clenched teeth, his face contorted into pure rage. McAllister gave a strangled laugh as Jane's hands constricted more tightly until the man's eyes began to bulge.

Jim was there instantly, attempting to pull the president off the murderer without hurting his boss. Jane let go at last, then stood away from the table, breathing heavily, his face florid. He glanced at the glass door where he could see Lisbon and Mashburn insisting they be let inside. His guards were obeying his orders, however. Jane held up his hand, knowing his audience was seconds away from ending this confrontation.

"I'm fine," he called. "Just give me a minute." He saw Lisbon's stricken face, and he pled with her with his eyes. She relented, then pulled Mashburn back into the observation room.

McAllister's laugh was hoarse now, but no less filled with humor. He twisted his head to ease the painful crick there, though his bound hands were unable to reach his neck to rub where Jane's red finger marks remained.

"You know, if you showed that same spirit when dealing with the Russians…"

"So you followed her to the beach that night," Jane said, keeping a safe distance "Did she see you?"

"Yes. I pretended I jogged too, having told her I'd just moved in down the beach, but I knew by then her nightly ritual. We jogged together for a spell, chatting amiably. She was surprisingly trusting. And then, well, one thing led to another."

McAllister leaned as far forward across the table as he could, as if speaking conspiratorially.

"She was so wonderfully responsive, Mr. President, but I guess you know that. And she smelled so great. Coal tar soap and lavender…"He closed his eyes in fond remembrance. "Hmm…"

The madman's words struck him like physical blows, but this time Jane controlled himself. He regarded McAllister dispassionately now, seeing him for who he was, and not the monster he'd imagined. He was just a man. A psychopath killer, but still a man. And he would never hurt anyone again.

"I have to say, Mr. President, I've enjoyed watching your meteoric rise to power. You went from a charlatan of the worst kind to a charlatan of the best kind. I admire that, truly. And in a way, you owe it all to me. So if you think about it, I _made_ you, didn't I?"

He smirked arrogantly.

"Is this what you've been missing? Acknowledgement?" asked Jane. "You're an evil, sexually perverted sociopath. How's that for some acknowledgement?"

Red John nodded. "I guess I have to own that. But I admit I wouldn't mind at least a little show of gratitude for my part in your new place in the world."

Jane stood up straighter now, remembering who he was. He was a man who had faced down powerful heads of state as calmly as he had an adolescent's tantrum. He couldn't deny that Angela's death had led him down the road to becoming a better man, but it was Charlotte that had kept him that way, and now he had found Lisbon, a woman whom he had no doubt would compel him into becoming even greater still.

"Here's a bit of irony that a clever man like you will appreciate," Jane said, his voice dangerously soft. "I will do everything in my considerable new power you _helped me _achieve to see that you pay for what you've done, not only to my wife, but to every person you slaughtered. If I have my way, you'll be put to death, and when your corpse is moldering in the ground, I will never think of you again."

Jane nodded to Jim, and they moved to leave the room.

"It was nice meeting you, President Jane," McAllister called after him with ominous intent. "Give my regards to Charlotte. She's turning into a beautiful young woman—almost as lovely as her mother."

Jane didn't even slow his stride but moved past his guards to meet Lisbon and Mashburn.

"Are you okay?" she asked him, her brows knit with concern.

Jane looked down at his hands, flexed them, still able to feel Red John's warm skin beneath his hands.

"No," he said. He met her eyes. "But I will be."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"It's come to my attention, through the California Bureau of Investigation, that the accused murderer, Thomas McAllister, also known as Red John, was a match for DNA found on my wife's body."

The cameras were rolling outside the California state Capitol building, where Jane stood behind a presidential podium atop the white steps. Cameras flashed at his surprising statement, and the reporters began asking a million questions at once. Jane raised his hand for silence.

"That's why I'm in California today, to insure that additional charges are filed against Thomas McAllister and that his trial proceeds in as fair and speedy a manner as possible. I have great faith in the local District Attorney and in the people of the state of California that justice will be done for my wife, as well as the others Mr. McAllister is accused of murdering. Now, since I am both a part of the government and an interested party in this case, it is probably best that I make no further comments on this matter. Thank you."

He moved away from the microphone to where Lisbon and Mashburn stood waiting for him. He ignored the shouted questions about Lisbon's presence and others about his wife and Red John, but in a final, blatant statement that he wouldn't be able to deny later, he took Lisbon's hand and walked with her back into the Capitol building.

"McAllister is back in the county jail," said Mashburn. "Nothing has been leaked so far about your visit."

"It won't be," Jane said, still confident. He smiled and his eyes found Lisbon's. He trusted her and her team to keep his secret.

"We should be getting back to DC," said Mashburn. "I'm sorry, but there are some meetings you skipped out on that we can't postpone any longer. The limo's waiting in back of the building."

"Fine." He looked at Lisbon. "Walter is a relentless taskmaster."

"He's just doing his job," she said.

Mashburn grinned at Lisbon. "Thank you, dear lady."

"Ride with me to the airport?" Jane invited her, choosing to ignore Mashburn's flirtatious tone with his girl.

"I would love to," Lisbon said wryly.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Mashburn rode in the SUV escort vehicle to allow Jane and Lisbon privacy in the presidential limo. Once on their way, the press cameras off the vehicle, Jane pulled her into his arms.

He'd barely had time to breathe since his confrontation with Red John, and he allowed the feeling of calm to settle over him, the relief flooding through his body like warm water.

Angela could finally rest in peace now, he thought. Her murderer would be punished, and he would no longer lie awake at night wondering what more he could do to give her the justice she deserved.

"How are you?" asked Lisbon quietly, her head resting on his chest, her hand in his.

"Better," he said honestly. "Relieved."

She could imagine so. "How did Charlotte take the news?"

He had spent a tearful half hour on the phone with his daughter before the news conference, happy and saddened to tell her that they had found the man who'd killed her mother.

"I hope he rots in prison, thinking every day how he's paying for what he did to Mom," Charlotte had told him with typical teenage vehemence.

"California has the death penalty," Jane had said gently.

Charlotte had been quiet a moment, before she said softly: "Dad, killing him won't bring Mom back."

"No," he'd told her. "But it will sure make me feel a hell of a lot better…"

"She was very…grown up about it," Jane said to Lisbon now. "Angela would be so proud of the young woman she is becoming."

"She would be proud of you too," Lisbon said. "You have fought for her, every step of the way."

Lisbon was once again holding the hand that wore his wedding ring, her emotions a tangled mix of love and gratitude, trepidation and sadness. His wife would be even more strongly on his mind now, she thought, ashamed of her jealousy. She thought of the envelope in her pocket, the one marked, _Department of Justice, Quantico._

Her acceptance letter. She had picked it up from her desk where the mail guy had left it.

"I'm glad you were here with me through all this," said Jane, bringing her hand to his lips.

"Me too."

She lifted her face for his gentle kiss, her fingers slipping into his hair.

After a few heady moments, Lisbon pulled away. She looked up at Jane, and his handsome face gave her courage. She took a deep breath.

"What you said yesterday—"

"That I'm in love with you? Yes, Teresa, I really meant it, despite the bad timing."

She blushed. "I'm glad. Because I have a decision to make. Before, I didn't think I needed a…a commitment from you. But it turns out, I do."

She took the letter from her inside blazer pocket. The envelope had already been carefully slit open, and Jane looked from it to Lisbon, a quiet happiness filling his eyes when he saw the return address. He pulled the letter from the envelope and scanned through it.

"You can start your training in two weeks," he said in pleasant surprise.

"Yes."

He smiled. "Maybe the fish and the bird can be together after all."

"Is that what you still want?"

Jane didn't miss how her eyes darted involuntarily to his ring. He resisted touching it self-consciously, didn't let on that he'd noticed her glance.

Apparently, Charlotte wasn't the only one who was troubled by his wearing it.

He set the letter on his lap to take both her hands in his.

"It _is_ what I want. You needn't have any doubts about me, Teresa. There is something incredible between us that I'm not willing to let go. Finally knowing who killed Angela was the second sign that it's time for me to get on with my life. Meeting you was the first." 

She saw the sincerity in his blue-green eyes, and Lisbon decided in that moment that, ring or no ring, this wonderful man was worth taking a chance on, was worth moving clear across the country, living completely out of her element. Sure, there would be more than your usual hardships—the press, the danger, the social and political obligations- but then what would you expect when you were dating the most powerful man in the world?

"What do you say, Teresa," Jane prompted at her silence. "Are you ready to share that life with me? To fly out of your tree, little bird, and meet me on the shore?"

Her answering smile was slow and filled with dimples.

"I'd be honored, Mr. President."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Epilogue**

Two weeks later, President Jane asked his daughter to join him in his private sitting room. She'd brought a carton of ice cream with her, along with two spoons. They sat together on his worn leather couch, Charlotte's legs tucked comfortably beneath her.

"What's up, Dad?" she asked, removing the lid from the carton. "I figured you'd be nervous about Teresa coming tomorrow, so I brought reinforcements."

Jane grinned at her, and happily took her proffered spoon. He'd taught her long ago that everything seems better with ice cream.

"More excited than nervous," he replied, gesturing with his spoonful of Rocky Road—Charlotte's favorite. "I just wanted to reassure you that no matter what, you are still my number one girl."

Charlotte rolled her eyes, her mouth filled with ice cream.

"Oh, please, Dad. I'm not five years old. I've got my own life now; you need to have yours."  
>"Don't talk with your mouth full," he said automatically. "Well, be that as it may, I want you to know that I will always make time for us, for doing things like this."<p>

"I know you will."

Jane nodded, misty eyed, and reached his spare hand into his suit jacket pocket. He withdrew a small, square jeweler's box and held it out to her.

"What's this? It's not my birthday or anything," she said, taking his gift. She handed him the ice cream carton and opened the velvet box. Her eyes widened at the familiar gold band she saw there.

"I don't get it. This is _your_ ring."

He nodded. "You were right when you said it was high time I took it off. Now, I want you to have it, to save it for the man you marry one day. I think your mother would have liked that idea."

Charlotte smiled. She took the ring from its satin nest and held it up to the light. Since he'd never taken it off in her presence before, she was surprised to see there was an inscription. It had been considerably worn by time and his finger, but she was just able to make out the tiny script.

_Why are you taking your ring off?_

Charlotte laughed. "Mom was pretty cool."

He grinned fondly.

"Yes, she was."

"Teresa's pretty cool too, though. I hope you're not feeling guilty about this," she said, carefully returning his ring to the box.

"I was, but then I realized I was finally able to give a good answer to that inscription: I'm taking it off for a worthy woman like Teresa. I'll always love and miss your mother, but I love Teresa too. I can't let her go…"

Charlotte scooted closer to her dad on the couch and picked up her spoon from the slowly melting ice cream.

They both ate silently for a few minutes, each mulling over the past and looking toward the future.

"Does Teresa like ice cream?" Charlotte asked.

Jane grinned, his spoon poised in the air. "I sure hope so," he said, "or the deal's totally off."

Charlotte smiled and fought him for a choice bite in the carton. "That sounds like one of your best policies yet, Dad," she said dryly.

"Hmm," said the president, triumphantly chewing his captured marshmallow.

**THE END**

**A/N: Thanks again for reading. I hope I am inspired to write more fics for The Mentalist, although I admit I am disheartened as the series ends. The next few weeks are going to be tough. We need to all hang in there together!**


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